THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


SISTER   BEATRICE 

AND 

ARDIANE  AND  BARBE  BLEUE 


THE  WORKS  OF   MAURICE   MAETERLINCK 

ESSAYS 

THE  TREASURE  OF  THE  HUMBLE 

WISDOM  AND  DESTINY 

THE  LIFE  OF  THE  BEE 

THE  BURIED  TEMPLE 

THE  DOUBLE  GARDEN 

THE  MEASURE  OF  THE  HOURS 

ON  EMERSON,  AND  OTHER  ESSAYS 

OUR   ETERNITY 

THE  UNKNOWN  GUEST 

THE  WRACK  OF  THE  STORM 


PLAYS 

SISTER  BEATRICE,  AND  ARDIANK  AND  BARBI  BLEUI 

JOYZELLE,  AND  MoNNA  VANNA 

THE  BLUE  BIRD,  A  FAIRY  PLAY 

MARY  MAGDALENE 

P£LLEAS  AND  MELISANDE,  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

PRINCESS  MALEINE 

THE  INTRUDER,  AND  OTHER  PLAYS 

AGLAVAINE  AND  SELYSETTE 

THE  MIRACLE  OF  SAINT  ANTHONY 

POEMS 

HOLIDAY  EDITIONS 

OUR  FRIEND  THE  DOG 

THE  SWARM 

DEATH 

THOUGHTS   FROM    MAETERLINCK 

THE  BLUE  BIRD 

THE  LIFE  OF  THE  BEE 

NEWS  OF  SPRING  AND  OTHER  NATURE  STUDIM 

THE  LIGHT  BEYOND 


Sister  Beatrice 

and 

Ardiane  Sf  Barbe  Bleue 

TWO    PLAYS 


Translated  into  English   Verse  from  the 
Manuscript  of 

MAURICE   MAETERLINCK 

By 

BERNARD    MIALL 


New  York 

Dodd,  Mead  and  Company 
1918 


iV        Copyright,  I  go  I 
BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 

^11  rightt  reserved 


College 
JLibrary 


Translator's  Preface 


"  THESE  two  little  plays,"  says  the  author, 
"are  really  librettos.  Music  is  being  written  to 
them  by  M.  Gilkas."  The  French  version  is 
in  unrhymed  alexandrines,  if  the  term  be  per- 
missible ;  that  is,  in  unrhymed  lines  of  twelve 
syllables.  It  is  of  course  possible  to  employ 
this  metre  in  English  verse,  but  it  is  a  medium 
as  yet  too  little  polished  by  use  to  refract,  with- 
out theft  or  distortion,  its  immanent  sense  ;  it 
is,  so  to  speak,  one  of  your  material  metres, 
more  ready  to  present  itself  in  body  than  in 
spirit,  being  still  in  a  primitive  stage  of  evolu- 
tion, and  waiting  the  master-hand  which  shall 
teach  it  an  easy  delivery  and  self-effacement. 


Translator's  Preface 

In  short,  it  is  a  metre  neither  so  far  familiar 
nor  so  far  developed  as  to  justify  its  use  by  a 
translator,  whose  duty  is  to  interpret  his  author, 
in  some  remote  degree,  as  his  author  might 
wish,  rather  than  to  experiment  as  himself 
might  please. 

For  myself,  I  had  no  envy  to  attempt  it,  and 
so,  with  my  author's  approval,  I  have  turned 
his  play  into  such  blank  verse  as  I  might  j  hold- 
ing, with  him,  that  our  English  unrhymed  verse 
of  ten  syllables,  iambic  in  scheme,  —  trochaic, 
dactylic,  anapaestic,  catalectic,  and  what  not  by 
incident, —  is  an  equivalent  sufficiently  near, 
and  perhaps  the  most  proper,  of  the  French 
unrhymed  verse  of  twelve  syllables.  But  I  do 
not  pretend  that  the  author's  mood  may  not  be 
betrayed  by  the  staccato  effect  of  the  shorter 
line.  To  the  French  alexandrine,  of  all  metres, 
is  possible  at  times  a  "  linked  sweetness  long 
drawn  out,"  which  by  a  shorter  metre,  or,  in- 
deed, by  any  metre  consisting,  as  ours,  very 
largely  of  accent,  is  rarely  attainable. 
vi 


Translator's  Preface 

Readers  may  miss  in  "Sister  Beatrice  "  what 
they  are  used  to  call  the  glamour,  the  atmo- 
sphere, of  the  Maeterlinckian  drama.  They 
will  miss  it  partly,  no  doubt,  because  I  have 
translated  it ;  but  partly  also  because  it  is  partly 
absent  in  the  French ;  they  may,  perhaps,  find 
more  of  it  in  the  music,  if  they  have  the  fortune 
to  hear  it.  But  the  play  unsung,  unstaged, — 
it  is,  as  I  have  said,  a  libretto  —  is  the  play  of 
M.  Maeterlinck's  which  most  nearly  approaches, 
in  the  matter  of  treatment,  the  avowedly  obvious 
spirit  of  the  English  drama.  That  the  story  is 
all  spiritual,  or  rather,  that  the  spiritual  in  the 
play  has  a  story,  is  no  doubt  the  reason  why 
the  treatment  may  be  material  and  articulate. 

Other  plays  of  this  author  might  be  described 

—  he  himself,  I  think,  might   so  describe  them 

—  as   belonging   to   static    or   potential   drama: 

the  plays  were  the  dramas  of  a  state  of  feeling. 

Here,  I   think,   we  have  for   the   first   time    in 

M.   Maeterlinck's    theatre    the    treatment   of  a 

legend   already   crystallised :    a  legend  in  Eng- 

vii 


Translator's  Preface 

land  familiar  to  readers  of  Mr.  John  David- 
son's poetry  in  "  The  Ballad  of  a  Nun."  It 
has  also  been  treated  by  Miss  Adelaide  Anne 
Procter,  and  a  singularly  charming  translation 
of  the  original  Dutch  version  —  for  in  Dutch 
we  find  it  first  told  and  first  printed  —  may  be 
found  in  the  first  volume  of  a  publication  called 
the  "Pageant,"  issued  some  years  ago.  This 
version  was  translated  by  Mr.  Laurence  Hous- 
man  and  Mr.  J.  Simons;  whether  it  be  the 
oldest  or  the  original  version  I  am  unable  to 
say. 

This  to  explain  why  " Sister  Beatrice"  is  not 
most  obviously  by  M.  Maeterlinck,  and  by  no 
one  else. 

LIDO,  VENICE, 
May  10,  1900. 


viii 


Translator's  Preface 

II 

IN  translating  "Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue," 
which,  like  "Sister  Beatrice,"  was  written  as  a 
libretto,  I  have  again  used  the  ordinary  "  blank 
verse "  line  to  represent  the  unrhymed  French 
line  of  twelve  syllables.  But  in  the  original 
text  of  this  drama  there  are  many  passages  in 
vers  libre,  both  rhymed  and  otherwise.  To 
make  irregular  metres  readable  in  English  re- 
quires no  less  than  inspiration,  and  if  inspiration 
is  not  always  at  the  service  of  the  poet  it  is  still 
less  often  at  the  beck  of  the  translator.  In 
such  passages  I  have  therefore  preserved,  so  far 
as  possible,  the  original  measures,  but  have  in 
all  cases,  or  nearly  all,  retained  or  added  rhyme. 
It  was  not  easy  to  decide  whether  I  should 
call  our  familiar  hero-villain  Bluebeard  or  Barbe 
Bleue.  As  children  we  connect  him  with  Ali 
Baba  and  the  Forty  Thieves  ;  but  if  he  be  any- 
thing less  than  universal  he  would  appear  to  be 
French.  Some  would  relegate  him  merely  to 
ix 


Translator's  Preface 

the  post  of  an  accidentally  baptized  variety  of 
the  Myth  of  the  Closed  Chamber;1  some 
identify  him  with  a  certain  Marshal  and  Con- 
stable of  France,2  companion-in-arms  to  the 
Duke  of  Brittany;  some  say  he  is  Henry  VIII. ; 
at  all  events  one  Gilles  de  Lavalle,  sieur  de 
Rais,  and  lord  in  all  of  some  eight  goodly 
chateaux,  for  the  most  part  in  Brittany,  con- 
stable and  marshal  as  aforesaid,  did  commit  cer- 
tain atrocities  upon  certain  women  and  children, 
though  his  wife  survived  him,  and  he  was 
in  1440  executed  therefore,  at  the  age  of 
thirty-six.  One  popular  legend  has  it  that  the 
brothers  of  seven  deceased  wives  arrived  with 
Saint  Gildas,  whereupon  the  castle  crumbled 
away,  and  the  brothers  killed  the  marshal  and 

1  See  "The  Forbidden  Chamber  : "  E.  Sydney  Hart- 
land,  Folk-lore  Journal  1885,  vol.  iii.      Also  Mr.  Lang's 
edition    of  Perrault.       It   was   from    Perrault   that    M. 
Maeterlinck  obtained   the    legend,  which  he  has  altered 
to  suit  himself. 

2  See   "  Un   Marechal   et   un  Connetable   de   France. 
La  Barbe  Bleue  de  la  legende  et   de  1'histoire,"  in  the 
British  Museum. 

X 


Translator's  Preface 

constable.  Whether  this  feudal  dignitary,  who 
in  his  twenties  was  marshal,  constable,  and 
councillor  to  King  Charles  VII.,  was  or  was 
not  the  original  of  the  Bluebeard  legend,  it  is 
certain  that  of  the  ruins  of  his  numerous  castles 
all  are  known  by  the  latter's  name,  and  are 
connected  with  legends  of  his  atrocities ;  and 
in  one,  the  castle  of  Chantoce,  which  one 
Thiphaine  or  Triphine  d'Anguille  gave  in  noo 
to  the  forbears  of  one  Marie  de  Grain,  who  in 
marriage  brought  it  to  Gui,  father  of  Rais, 
father  of  Barbe  Bleue,  or  Gilles  de  Lavalle, 
may  be  seen  to  this  day  a  long  subterranean 
hall,  communicating  with  another,  low  and 
square,  which  is  entered  by  three  staircases. 
Chantoce  is  built  on  a  flat  rock,  surrounded  by 
a  moat,  and  was  defended  by  two  towers  with 
drawbridges.  It  is  interesting  to  note  that  the 
depravity  of  Gilles  was  attributed  to  the  fervent 
study  of  pernicious  literature  in  his  youth. 

As  the  story  of  Bluebeard  pure  and  simple, 
as  distinguished  from  that  of  Bluebeard   Gilles, 


Translator's  Preface 

n  found  in  Greek,  French,  Tuscan,  Icelandic, 
Esthonian,  Gaelic,  and  Basque,  it  seems  unlikely 
that  Gilles  was  the  origin  of  the  legend.  It  is 
most  likely  that  the  Myth  of  the  Forbidden 
Chamber  found,  as  all  stories  will  sooner  or 
later  find,  an  exposition  in  actual  life ;  so  that 
the  real  drama,  in  course  of  years  and  popular 
relation,  took  to  itself  some  or  all  of  the  inter- 
national Forbidden  Chamber  details,  while  the 
Forbidden  Chamber  stories  were  given,  in 
many  countries,  a  name,  and  in  France  a  local 
habitation  —  or  rather  some  eight  or  nine  such. 
The  name  of  the  victorious  and  final  wife  is 
variable.  Often  it  is  Anne.  Sometimes  she 
finds  the  corpses,  sometimes  the  heads ;  the 
wives,  who  are  usually  seven,  are  sometimes 
her  sisters  and  sometimes  not.  Sometimes  her 
brothers  kill  the  polygamous  husband ;  some- 
times she  has  no  brothers,  and  restores  the 
wives  to  life,  as  she  does  in  one  of  the  Gaelic 
versions.  In  the  version  of  Perrault,  which  is 
probably  the  original  of  all  our  English  versions, 
xii 


Translator's  Preface 

she    finds   the   bodies   of  the    wives,   and  her 
brothers  execute  justice. 

When  I  thought  of  retaining  the  French 
name  of  the  hero,  it  was,  as  I  say,  to  preserve 
the  reader  from  reminiscences  of  the  pantomime 
and  the  Arabian  Nights,  which  somehow  do 
not  "  march  together "  with  the  drama  of  M. 
Maeterlinck.  I  finally  determined  to  retain 
"  Barbe  Bleue "  for  the  name  of  our  hero 
because  the  names  of  all  the  other  characters 
are  French,  and  untranslatable,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  that  the  contrast  of  the  English  name 
of  our  hero  would  still  further  accentuate  the 
illegitimate  Arabian  and  pantomimic  reminis- 
cences that,  for  some  of  us,  cling  to  it.  Plain 
"  Bluebeard "  is  hardly  congruous  with  these 
other  names ;  we  have  never  thought  of  our 
childhood's  monster  as  the  warden  of  a  harem 
of  maidens  out  of  a  play  by  M.  Maeterlinck. 
The  point  is  difficult  as  it  is  nice,  and  also 
trivial,  and  perhaps  it  is  best  to  leave  the  reader 
to  give  our  hero  the  name  that  his  individual 
xiii 


Translator's  Preface 

taste  dictates.      My   apology   is  to    disarm  the 
captious. 

A  word  as  to  the  versification  of  these  two 
translations.  They  are  for  the  most  part 
written  in  what  is  popularly  called  "blank 
verse."  At  the  same  time,  besides  employing 
the  slight  variations  which  precedence  allows 
in  such  verse,  I  have  introduced,  here  and  there, 
what  I  conceive  to  be  a  variation  especially 
desirable  in  a  translation,  wherein  one  cannot 
always,  or  often,  choose  one's  words,  and  is 
sometimes  compelled  to  employ  a  phrase  that 
would,  if  handled  in  the  ordinary  way,  be 
unmusical  in  the  extreme.  This  variation 
consists  in  the  employment  of  the  well-known 
principle  of  catalexis  where  not  to  employ  that 
principle  would  result  in  cacophony.  To 
render  certain  concatenations  of  consonants, 
especially  those  containing  sibilants,  tolerable 
to  the  ear,  I  have  allowed  for  the  time  which 
their  pronunciation  actually  demands,  by  count- 
ing them  as  a  syllable,  so  that  the  decasyllabic 
xiv 


Translator's  Preface 

line,  though  still  having  the  time  of  ten  sylla- 
bles, has  only  nine  syllables  in  it  if  estimated 
in  the  ordinary  way.  An  example  of  such  a 
line  is :  — 

"  In  silence  shed  before  a  queen's  feet." 
Another  example  is  — 

"  Open  the  fifth  door."  —  "Not  even  there  ?" 

I  should  not  have  referred  to  this  matter  had 
not  a  critic  quoted  one  of  the  above  lines  as  a 
proof  that  I  was  ignorant  of  the  elementary 
rules  of  versification. 

BERNARD    MIALL. 
LONDON,  April  18,  1901. 


XV 


Con  tents 

Page 

SISTER  BEATRICE i 

ARDIANE  AND  BARBE  BLEUE    ...     93 


SISTER    BEATRICE 

A   MIRACLE   PLAY  IN  THREE   ACTS. 


THE  PERSONS  OF   THE  PLAY 

THE  HOLY  VIRGIN  (in  the  likeness  of 

SISTER  BEATRICE) 
SISTER  BEATRICE 
THE  ABBESS 
SISTER  EGLANTINE 
SISTER  CLEMENCY 
SISTER  FELICITY 
SISTER  BALBINE 
SISTER  REGINA 
SISTER  GISELA 
THE  PRIEST 
PRINCE  BELLIDOR 
LITTLE  ALLETTE 

Beggars,  Pilgrims,  &c. 

TIME — The  Thirteenth  Century.      PLACE — A  Convtnt 
in  the  neighbourhood  of  Louvain, 


SISTER    BEATRICE 

ACT   THE   FIRST 

A  corridor ;  in  the  centre  of  which  is  the  great 
entrance-door  of  the  convent.  To  the 
right)  the  door  of  the  chapel,  to  which 
a  few  steps  give  access,  makes  an  angle 
with  the  wall  of  the  corridor.  In  the 
angle  so  formed  an  image  of  the  VIRGIN, 
of  the  stature  of  an  ordinary  woman, 
stands  within  a  niche,  on  a  pedestal  of 
marble,  which  is  raised  on  steps  and 
enclosed  within  a  grille.  I'he  image  is 
attired  after  the  Spanish  manner,  in 
vestments  of  silk  and  precious  brocades, 
which  give  it  the  semblance  of  a  celes- 
tial princess.  A  broad  girdle,  wrought 
3 


Sister  Beatrice 

in  gold,  encircles  the  waist,  and  a  golden 
fillet,  on  which  glitter  precious  stones, 
confines,  like  a  diadem,  the  tresses  of 
woman  s  hair  that  fall  about  the  shoul- 
ders of  the  image.  To  the  left  of  the 
convent  door  is  seen  the  cell  of  SISTER 
BEATRICE.  The  door  of  the  cell  is  ajar. 
The  whitewashed  cell  is  furnished  with 
a  chair,  a  table,  and  a  pallet-bed.  It 
is  night.  Before  the  VIRGIN  a  lamp  is 
burning,  and  at  her  feet  is  prostrated 
SISTER  BEATRICE. 

BEATRICE. 

Pity  me,  Lady  :  me  about  to  fall 
In  mortal  sin,  for  he  is  coming  back 
To-night,  to-night,  and  I  am  all  alone  ! 
What  must  I  say  to  him,  what  must  I  do? 
He   looks   at   me   with   trembling   hands, 

and  I  — 

I  know  not  what  it  is  that  he  desires. 
Since  I  came  first  into  this  holy  house 
4 


Sister  Beatrice 

Four   years   are    nearly  gone  —  ay,    four 

years  quite 
But  for  six   weeks,  when  August  meets 

July. 

Then  I  knew  nothing :  I  was  quite  a  child : 
And  now  I  still  know  nothing :  nor  I  dare 
Ask  of  the  Abbess,  nor  to  any  tell 
This   matter  that  torments  my   heart  — 

this  woe, 

Or  else,  this  happiness.     It  is,  they  say, 
Allowed  to  love  a  man  in  marriage :  he, 
When  first  of  all  I  leave  the  convent,  says, 
Before  he  even  kiss  me,  there  shall  be 
A  hermit,  one  who  does  miraculous  things, 
One  that  he  knows,  who  shall  unite  us 

both. 

We  are  told  often  of  the  lures  of  sin, 
And  of  the  snares  of  man  :  but  him  you 

know ; 

He  is  not  like  the  others.      Long  ago, 
When  I  was  little,  he  would  often  come 
Into  my  father's  garden  of  a  Sunday  ; 
5 


Sister  Beatrice 

We  played  together  there.     Him  I  forgot, 
But  oftentimes  I  would  remember  that 
When  I  was  miserable,  or  in  my  prayers. 
Pious  he  is  and  wise  :  his  eyes  are  gentler 
Than  those  of  a  little  child  that  kneels  to 

pray. 

Here  at  your  feet  he  knelt  the  other  night, 
Under  the  lamp :  did  you  not  see  him 

there  ? 
To  look  at,  like  your  Son.     Gravely  he 

smiles, 

As  if  he  spoke  to  God,  though  but  to  me, 
To  me  who  cannot  answer  him  he  speaks, 
Me  who  have  no  possessions.  See,  I  tell 

you 

All :  for  I  seek  not  to  deceive  you ;  see, 
I  am  very  wretched,  though  for  three  days 

now 

I  have  been  unable  to  cry  any  more. 
Did  I  refuse  to  listen  to  his  prayer 
He  swore   that   he  would   die  !     And    I 

have  heard 

6 


Sister  Beatrice 

That  such  a  thing  may  happen ;  such  as 

he, 
Men    that    are    beautiful,   and    tall,    and 

young, 
Have  slain   themselves  because  of  love. 

One  day 

They  spoke  of  this  to  Francis  and  to  Paul. 
If  this  be  true  I  know  not :  but  the  earth 
Is  full  of  trouble,  and  they  tell  us  naught. 
O  Mother,  hear !  I  know  not  what  to 

do! 
And    who    knows,    Mother,    that    these 

trembling  hands 

Held  forth  to  your  holy  image  shall  not  be 
Torches  unquenchable  in  the  blaze  of  Hell 
To-morrow  ? 

\There  is  heard  without  the  sound  of 
many  approaching  horsemen. 

Listen  !     Listen  !     Do  you 

hear  ? 
There   are   horses  —  many  !      Now  they 

stop !     Ah,  now 
7 


Sister  Beatrice 

Feet  on  the  threshold !    now  they  try  the 
door ! 

\A  knock  on  the  great  door. 
What,  what  to  do  ?  Mother,  I  will  not  go 
I  will  not,  if  you  wish  it ! 

\_She  rises,  and  runs  to  the  door. 
Bellidor? 

BELLIDOR  (from  without). 
Yes,  open  quickly,  Beatrice  !  it  is  I  ! 

BEATRICE. 
Yes,  yes ! 

[She  throws  wide  open  the  door  of  the 
convent,  and  BELLIDOR,  clad  in  a 
coat  of  mail  and  a  long  blue  cloak, 
is  seen  upon  the  threshold.  On 
his  right  hand  is  a  boy  laden 
with  costly  garments  and  glittering 
jewels.  Not  far  from  the  door  is 
an  old  man,  who  holds  two  richly- 
appointed  horses  by  their  bridles, 


Sister  Beatrice 

and  leads  them  to  and  fro  beneath 
a  tree.  In  the  distance,  under 
the  starry  sky,  a  limitless  moonlit 
country. 

BEATRICE  (advancing). 

You  are  not  alone  ?    Who  is  it  there, 
Under  the  tree  ? 

BELLIDOR. 

Draw  nigh,  and  have  no  fear ! 
\Kneeling  upon  the  threshold  he  kisses 

the  hem  of  BEATRICE'S  robe. 
O,  beautiful,  as  you  come  forward  so, 
Beatrice  !   to  front  the  stars  that  wait  for 

you 
As    you    upon    the    threshold    trembling 

stand  ! 

Surely  they  know  a  mighty  happiness 
Has  come  to  birth,  and,  like  the  dust  of 

gold 

In  silence  shed  before  a  queen's  feet, 
9 


Sister  Beatrice 

They  are  strewn  over  all  the  long  blue 

ways 
We  go  to  travel  through.     What  is  it? 

Say! 
What  would  you,  what  ?    O,  do  your  feet 

already 
Falter  ?     You  turn  your  head  ?     O  no, 

no,  no ! 
My  arms  enlace  you,  hold  you   forever 

fast 
In  the  sight  of  Heaven  ?     No  !  you  shall 

not  fly, 

For  by  enchaining  love  delivers  you ! 
O  come,  come,  seek  no  more  the  shadows 

dim 
Of  the   lamps   wherein    love   slumbered. 

Love  has  seen 

The  light  he  never  saw  before  :  the  light 
Whose    every    passing    ray    his    triumph 

gilds, 

Unites  our  youthful  spirits,  and  ensures 
Our  destinies.     O,  Beatrice,,  Beatrice  ! 
10 


Sister  Beatrice 

Behold,  I  see  you,  I  am  near  you,  touch, 
Embrace   you   and   salute   you    the   first 
time ! 

\_At  these  words  he  abruptly  rises,  seizes 
BEATRICE  about  the  body,  and 
kisses  her  on  the  lips. 

BEATRICE  (recoiling,  and  feebly  defending 

herself}. 

No,  do  not  kiss  me !     You  had  promised 
me ! 

BELL i DOR  (redoubling  his  kisses). 

O,  those  were  never  promises  of  love ! 
Love  cannot  say  that  love  will  not  adore, 
And    lovers    make    no    promises ;    never 

they 
Shall  promise  aught  who  once  have  given 

all! 

Love  every  moment  gives  the  all  it  has, 
And  if  it  promise  to  reserve  or  stay 
ii 


Sister  Beatrice 

One  kiss,  it  gives  a  hundred   thousand 

more 
To  efface  the  wrong  done  to  its  lips  itself. 

\_Embracing  her  more  ardently  and  seek- 
ing to  draw  her  away. 
Come,  come  !     The  night  is  passing,  and 

the  sky 

Already  paler,  and  the  horses  fret. 
There  is  now  one  step  only  more  to  take, 
One  to  descend  — 

\_Suddenly  observing  that  BEATRICE  is 
failing  in  his  arms. 

You  do  not  answer  me  ? 
I  do  not  hear  you  breathe  :   your  knees 

give  way  ! 
Come !      Never    wait    until    the   envious 

dawn 

Outlays  its  golden  snares  across  the  path 
That  leads  to  happiness  ! 

BEATRICE  (who  is  almost  swooning). 

No,  I  cannot  yet ! 

12 


Sister  Beatrice 

BELLIDOR. 

Love,  you  grow  pale !  and  all  my  kisses 

die 
Quenched   on    your   lips    like  sparks    in 

waters  cold. 
Raise  your  fair  face  and   give   me    your 

dear  mouth, 
That  strives  to  smile  no  more.     Oh !  it 

is  this, 
This  heavy  veil  that  so  constrains  your 

throat, 
And    weighs   upon    your   heart.      'Twas 

made  for  death, 
Never  for  life ! 

\With  slow  and  cautious  movements  he 
unwraps  the  'veil  which  envelops 
the  face  of  BEATRICE,  who  is  still 
unconscious.  Presently  the  first 
tresses  of  hair  begin  to  fall,  then 
others  and  still  others^  till  at  last 
al^  like  flames  unimprisonedt  fall 
13 


Sister  Beatrice 

suddenly   over    BEATRICE'S  face. 
She  seems  to  awaken. 

BELLIDOR  (with  a  cry  of  ecstasy]. 

O! 

BEATRICE  (softly,  as  if  she  came  from 
a  dream). 

Ah,  what  have  you  done  ? 
Bellidor?     What  is  this  my  hands  per- 
ceive ? 
This  softness  that  is  tender  with  my  face  ? 

BELLIDOR  (passionately  kissing  her  di- 
shevelled hair). 

Behold,  behold  !     It  is  your  proper  fire 
Awakens  you,  and  you  are  overwhelmed 
With    your  own    beauty  !     Lo,  you   are 

enmeshed 
With  your  own  radiance !     O,  you  never 

knew, 
I  never  knew,  how  beautiful  you  were ! 


Sister  Beatrice 

I   thought  that   I    had  seen   you,  and   I 

thought 
I   loved  you  !     Ay,  and   but  a  moment 

gone 

You  were  the  fairest  of  my  boyish  dreams  : 
Most  beautiful  of  all  most  beautiful 
I  find  you  now  to  my  awakened  eyes, 
And  to  my  hands  that  touch  you,  and  in 

my  heart 
That  now  discovers  you  !     Ah,  wait,  wait, 

wait ! 
You    must   in    all    be    like   your   face  — 

must  be 
Utterly  liberated,  wholly  queen  ! 

[He  removes  BEATRICE'S  mantle  with 
a  sudden  gesture^  and  she  appears 
clad  in  a  robe  of  white  woollen; 
then,  while  he  makes  a  sign  in  the 
direction  of  the  door.,  and  the  boy 
who  was  with  him  at  the  opening 
of  the  scene  draws  near^  bearing 
costly  raiment,  a  golden  girdle,  and 
15 


Sister  Beatrice 

a  necklet  of  pear  Is ,  BEATRICE  y^//j 
to  kneeling  on  the  flags,  prostrate 
and  sobbing,  her  face  hidden  in  the 
folds  of  the  mantle  and  veil,  which 
she  has  gathered  up. 

BEATRICE. 

N^t  no  !     I  would  —  I  would  not ! 
[Moving  on  her  knees  to  the  VIRGIN'S /<?<?/. 

O,  you  see, 

Lady  !     I  cannot  struggle  any  more  ! 
No,  not  without  you  succour  me!     I  can 

pray 
No  more,  no  more,  if  you  abandon  me ! 

BELLIDOR  (hastening  to  BEATRICE  and  wrap- 
ping her  in  the  costly  garments  which 
he  has  taken  from  the  child}. 

It  is  time,  Beatrice  !     See  the  raiment,  see 
The  raiment  of  your  life  that  now  begins  ! 
You  are  no  slave  I  rescue  from  her  lord, 
You  are  a  queen  I  bring  to  happiness ! 
16 


Sister  Beatrice 

BEATRICE  (still  kneeling,  her  hands  clinging 
to  the  grille  that  encloses  the  base  of 
the  image]. 

Our    Lady,  hear  me !     I    can  speak  no 

more, 

And  no  more  can  I  any  longer  pray ; 
No,  I  can  only  sob.  I  did  not  know 
I  loved  him  quite  like  this ;  I  did  not 

know 
That   I   loved  you  so  much.     O  listen, 

look! 

All  that  I  ask  you  is  a  sign,  a  sign, 
A  sign  of  your  hand,  a  smile  of  your  eyes, 

no  more ! 

I   am  only  a  girl  who  does-  not  under- 
stand .  .  . 
They   have  so  often  told    me  that   you 

grant 
Everything,    and    that    you     were    very 

kind, 

That  you  were  pitiful  .  .  . 
*  17 


Sister  Beatrice 

BELLI  DOR  (endeavouring  to  raise  her  upy  and 
to  draw  her  gently  away  from  the  grille). 

Ay,  so  she  is, 
For  she  is  queen  of  a  heaven  that  love 

has  made ! 
Unclasp    these    tender    hands    the    iron 

chills, 

Look  in  her  face  —  it  is  in  no  wise  wroth, 
It  smiles,  it  shines ;   her  eyes  have  seen 

the  prayer 
That   shines  in   yours ;   it  is   as    though 

your  tears 
Illumed  her  eyes  that  smile.     Is  it  not 

she 
That  asks,  and  you  that  pardon  ?     In  my 

eyes 

You  are  confounded,  and  I  seem  to  see 
Two    sisters,    and    I    know  that   love   is 

here ; 
And    they   bless  one   another  with   their 

hands. 

18 


Sister  Beatrice 

BEATRICE  (raising  her  head  and  looking  at 
the  VIRGIN). 

I  was  told  often  I  was  like  her. 

BELLIDOR. 

Look! 

Regard,   across    your   own,    her     tresses 
thus, 

While  so  my  hands  outspread  the  shim- 
mering veil. 

Would  one  not  say,  rays  of  the  self-same 
light, 

The  self-same  bliss  ? 

\JVhile  he  speaks  three  hours  are  struck 
on  the  convent  clock. 

BEATRICE  (suddenly  rising). 
Listen  ! 

BELLIDOR. 

Three  hours ! 
19 


Sister  Beatrice 

BEATRICE. 

The  hour 

Of  matins  that  I  should  have  sounded ! 

BELLIDOR. 

Come ! 

The  dawn  grows  nigh,  the  windows  pale 
to  blue ! 

BEATRICE. 

The  windows  I  would  always  open  wide 
Before  the  dawn,  so  might  the  morning 

air, 
Fresh,  and  the  daylight,  and  the  song  of 

birds 
Welcome  my  sisters   as   they  came  from 

sleep. 

There  is  the  cord  that  rings  the  bell  to  say 
Night  and   their  sleep  are  ended;    there 

the  door, 
The  chapel  door  of  which  no  more  my 

hands 

20 


Sister  Beatrice 

Will  push  apart  the  leaves  to  greet  the 

dawn, 

And  altar-candles  other  hands  will  light. 
Here  is  the  basket  of  the  poor :  ay,  soon 
They  will  come  hither,  and  will  call  my 

name, 

And  see  no  one  at  all,  and  vainly  seek 
These  hands  they  are  wont  to  bless  when 

I  dispense 

The  humble  garments  that  my  sisters  sew 
In  peace  and  silence  of  the  spacious  halls 
The  while  they  pray.  .  .  . 

BELLIDOR. 

Come,  for  the  day  is  nigh ; 
Your  sisters  will  awaken ;  and  it  seems 
Already  that  I  hear  their  steps  resound. . . . 

BEATRICE. 

Ay,  they  are  coming,  ay,  my  sisters  come, 
Who  loved  me  all  so  well,  and  held  me 
too 

21 


Sister  Beatrice 

So  holy  !     Here  will  they  discover  all 
That  of  the  lowly  Beatrice  remains ; 
Her  veil  and  mantle  lying  on  the  stones. 

[Suddenly  she   takes  up  the  veil  and 
mantle  and  deposits  them  on  the 
grille  at  the  feet  of  the  image. 
But    no ;    I    would    never   one   of  them 

should  think 

I  trampled  underfoot  the  robe  of  peace 
They    gave    me,    Mother  —  see,    I    give 

them  you, 
And  you  will  keep  them.     In  your  hands 

I  place 

All  my  possessions,  all  that  I  received 
In  these  four  years. 

I  lay  my  chaplet  here, 
My  chaplet  with  the  cross  of  silver ;  here 
My  discipline,  and  here  the  three  great 

keys 

I  carried  at  my  girdle :  this  the  key 
That  opens  the  great  door ;  the  garden, 

this, 

22 


Sister  Beatrice 

And  this,  the  chapel.     I  shall  see  no  more 
The  garden  growing  green,  and  no  more 

now 

Unlock  the  chapel  where  we  used  to  sing 
'Mid  odour  of  the  incense.     You  know 

all, 
Lady,  and  I  know  nothing. 

There  on  high 
Is  it  writ  that  naught  is  pardoned  ?     And 

that  love 

Is  cursed,  and  that  none  may  expiate  it  ? 
Tell,  tell,  O  tell  me  !     For  I  am  not  lost 
Except  you  will  it !     I  am  not  now  lost 
If  you  but  make  a  sign  !      I  do  not  ask 
Aught  of  impossible  miracle,  only  this: 
A  single  sign  were  all  enough  ;  a  sign 
So  small  that  none  should  see  it !     If  the 

shadow 
Cast    by  the   lamp,  slumbering   on   your 

brow, 

Move  but  a  line  I  will  not  go  away" 
I  will  not  go  away  !     O  look  at  me . 
23 


Sister  Beatrice 

Mother !     I  gaze  and  gaze  !     I  wait ! 

[She  gazes  for  a  long  while  at  the 
VIRGIN'S  face.  All  is  motionless 
and  silent. 

BELLIDOR   (embracing  her  and  kissing  her 
passionately  on  the  lips). 

Come! 

BEATRICE  (for  the  first  time  returning  his 
kiss). 

Yes! 

[Enlaced  in  one  another's  armsy  they  go 
forth  into  the  dawning  world.  The 
door  is  left  open.  Soon  is  heard  the 
sound  of  horses  that  gallop  away, 
away  into  the  distance.  The  cur- 
tain falls,  and  shortly  afterwards 
the  bell  of  the  convent  is  heard  in 
the  dawn,  loudly  ringing  matins. 


END    OF    THE    FIRST    ACT. 
24 


ACT   THE   SECOND 

The  last  strokes  of  the  bell  ringing  matins 
are  heard.  Then  the  curtain  rises.  The 
scene  is  that  of  the  last  Act,  save  that 
now  the  great  door  of  the  convent  is 
closed,  and  all  the  corridor  windows 
are  of  en  to  the  first  rays  of  the  sun. 
Hardly  has  the  curtain  risen  when  the 
VIRGIN,  as  at  the  end  of  a  long,  divine 
sleep,  is  seen  to  stir,  to  come  to  life; 
then  slowly  she  descends  the  steps  of  the 
pedestal,  and  reaches  the  grille,  and  over 
her  glorious  robe  and  tresses  she  puts  on 
the  veil  and  mantle  that  BEATRICE  has 
abandoned.  Then  as  she  begins  to  sing 
softly  under  her  breath,  she  turns  to  the 
right,  stretching  forth  her  hand,  when, 
25 


Sister  Beatrice 

through  the  door  of  the  chapel,  which 
opens  to  her  gesture,  are  seen  the  tapers 
of  the  altar ;  which  are  magically  one 
by  one  being  kindled ;  then,  continuing 
her  holy  song,  she  revives  the  flame  of 
the  lamp,  and  having  placed  before  the 
pedestal  the  basket  which  contains  the 
garments  to  be  given  to  the  poor,  she 
advances  to  the  great  door  of  the 
convent. 

THE  VIRGIN  (singing}. 

I  hold  to  every  sin, 

To  every  soul  that  weeps, 

My  hands  with  pardon  filled 
Out  of  the  starry  deeps. 

There  is  no  sin  that  lives 
If  love  have  vigil  kept ; 

There  is  no  soul  that  dies 
If  love  but  once  have  wept. 
26 


Sister  Beatrice 

And  though  in  many  paths 
Of  earth  love  lose  its  way, 

Its  tears  shall  find  me  out, 
And  shall  not  go  astray. 

[During  the  last  words  of  the  song,  a 
hand  knocks  timidly  at  the  gate  of 
the  convent.  The  VIRGIN  opens ; 
and  there  appears  on  the  threshold 
a  little  girl,  barefooted,  and  very 
ragged  and  poor.  She  is  half 
hidden  behind  the  oaken  door-post ; 
she  advances  only  her  head,  and 
gazes  at  the  VIRGIN  with  as- 
tonishment. 


THE  VIRGIN. 

Good    day,    Allette,    why    do    you    hide 
yourself? 

[Enraptured  and  afraid,  making  the  sign 
of  the  cross  as  she  approaches. 
27 


Sister  Beatrice 

ALLETTE. 

Why  have  you  put  that  light  upon  youf 
robe  ? 

THE  VIRGIN. 

There  is  light  everywhere  when  the  sun 
comes. 

ALLETTE. 

Why  have  you  put  those  stars  into  your 
eyes? 

THE  VIRGIN. 

There  are  often  stars  in  the  depth  of  eyes 
that  pray. 

ALLETTE. 

Why  have  you  put  that  light  inside  your 
hands  ? 

THE  VIRGIN. 

There  is  always  light   in  the  hands  of 
alms-givers. 

•8 


Sister  Beatrice 

ALLETTE. 
I  have  come  alone  here. 

THE  VIRGIN. 
Where  are  our  poor  brothers  ? 

ALLETTE. 

They  dare  not  come  because  of  what  folk 
say. 

THE  VIRGIN. 
What  do  they  say  ? 

ALLETTE. 

They  say  that  they  have  seen 
Beatrice  riding  on  the  Prince's  horse. 

THE  VIRGIN. 
Am  I  not  like  the  lowly  Beatrice  ? 

ALLETTE. 

They  say  they  have  seen  her — that  she 
spoke  to  them. 
29 


Sister  Beatrice 

THE  VIRGIN. 

Only  God  saw  her  not,  and  nothing  heard. 

[Taking  the  child  in  her  arms  and  kiss- 
ing her  on  the  forehead. 
O  little  one,  Allette,  there  is  no  one  else 
To-day  that  I  can  kiss.     Ay,  innocence 
Cannot  betray  me,  though  it  comprehend. 
\Looking  into  the  child's  eyes 
How  pure  the  human  soul  when  thus  one 

sees  it ! 

Most  beautiful  the  angels  are,  but  they 
Never  know  tears.     Poor  child,  enough, 

enough  ! 
Behold    yours    falling ;    you    shall    know 

their  number  ! 

\_She  sets  the  child  down  on  the  threshold. 
But  our  poor  brothers  —  where  are  they  ? 

Allette, 

Go  forth  to  them,  and  tell  them  all  of  love 
Full    of  impatience :    go,   and    bid    them 

haste. 

30 


Sister  Beatrice 

ALLETTE  (who  turns  her  head  and  looks 
away  from  the  convent}. 

O  Sister  Beatrice,  they  are  coming  —  see ! 
[And  indeed  the  poor,  the  sick  and  in- 
firm, the  women  carrying  little 
children,  have  timidly  drawn  nigh, 
and,  thinking  that  they  recognize 
BEATRICE,  fearful,  hesitating,  and 
astonished,  they  approach  the 
threshold,  and,  halting  outside  the 
door,  they  gaze  and  wait. 

THE  VIRGIN  (leaning  over  the  poor-basket, 
which  contains  clothes]. 

What  has  befallen  ?     Brothers,  wherefore 

stay  ? 
Hasten !    the    sun   already   mounts :    the 

time 

Is  ripe  for  prayer;  shortly  my  sisters  pass. 
The  door  will  soon  be  shut ;  then,  till  the 

morrow 


Sister  Beatrice 

No  more  of  alms.     O  come  you,  all  of 

you ! 
O  hasten,  all  of  you  ;  the  time  is  now. 

A  POOR  OLD  MAN  (coming  forward). 

Now,  sister,  we  to-night  have  seen  two 
ghosts.  .  .  . 

THE  VIRGIN  (giving  him  a  cloak,  which 
suddenly  becomes  radiant  as  she  draws 
it  out  of  the  basket). 

Dream  now  no  more  of  phantoms  of  the 
night. 

A  CRIPPLE  (advancing  in  turn). 

We  have  had  wicked  thoughts  this  night, 
my  sister. 

THE  VIRGIN  (drawing  from  the  basket  an- 
other garment,  which  seems  suddenly  to 
become  covered  with  jewels). 

Open  your  eyes,  my  brother :  it  is  now 
32 


Sister  Beatrice 

The  hour  of  pardon.     Come,  O  all  of 
you,  come ! 

A  POOR  WOMAN. 
I,  sister,  for  my  mother  need  a  shroud  .  .  . 

ANOTHER  POOR  WOMAN. 

I  beg  you,  sister,  that  our  latest-born  .  .  . 
[The  poor  folk,  lamenting,  and  greedy 
of  charity,  their  arms  outheld,  press 
in  a  crowd  about  the  VIRGIN, 
who,  leaning  over  the  basket,  fills 
her  arms  from  it  again  and  again 
with  garments  glittering  with  rays 
of  light,  sparkling  'veils,  and  robes 
of  linen  that  grow  luminous.  In 
measure  as  the  VIRGIN  exhausts 
the  basket  it  overflows  with  a  still 
greater  abundance  of  raiment,  more 
and  more  costly,  and  more  and  more 
resplendent ;  and  as  though  intoxi- 
cated by  the  miracle  she  herself 
3  33 


Sister  Beatrice 

has  worked,  she  cries  out,  as  she 
distributes  her  treasures  to  the 
poor  folk,  filling  their  hands,  cov- 
ering their  shoulders,  and  wrap- 
ping their  infants  in  dazzling  and 
blazing  tissues. 

THE  VIRGIN. 

O   come  you   hither,   hither,  all   of  you 

come ! 
The   snowy    shroud    is   here,   and    here 

behold 
The  smiling  swaddling-bands  !     Ah,  here 

behold 
Life,  death,  and  life  again !     Come  hither 

all! 

It  is  the  hour  of  love  :  and  what  of  love  ? 
It  has  no  limits  !     Come  you,  all  of  you, 

come ! 

Give  one  another  aid  !  and  all  offence 
Let  each  forgive  the  other  !    And  through 

life 

34 


Sister  Beatrice 

Mingle  your  happinesses  and  your  tears ! 
Love  one  another :    pray  for  those  that 

fall; 
Come  all,  come  hither,  all  of  you  pass 

by! 
Come,  all  of  you  !     God  does  not  see  the 

ill 

Done  without  hatred.     Pardon  one  an- 
other : 

There  is  no  sin  forgiveness  does  not  reach. 
[Now  the  poor  people,  stupefied  and 
bewildered,  are  covered  with  re- 
splendent garments.  Some,  their 
raiment  rustling  with  precious 
stones,  waving  and  swaying  as 
they  go,  flee  into  the  open,  shout- 
*n&  for  j°y-  Others,  sobbing  for 
gratitude,  surround  the  holy  VIR- 
GIN, and  seek  to  kiss  her  hands. 
But  the  greater  number,  silent, 
and  as  though  smitten  with  a 
divine  terror,  kneel  upon  the  steps 
35 


Sister  Beatrice 

of  the  entrance  and  murmur  their 
prayers.  Then  a  stroke  of  the 
bell  is  heard;  the  basket  is  sud- 
denly exhausted;  the  VIRGIN 
gently  disperses  the  poor  folk  who 
press  about  hery  and  closes  the 
door  on  them. 

THE  VIRGIN. 

Go  in  peace,  brethren  :  't  is  the  hour  of 
prayer. 

\_The  murmur  of  the  poor  folk  at  prayer 
is  still  heard  through  the  closed 
door.  The  murmur  little  by  little 
becomes  an  indistinct  hymn  of  grati- 
tude and  ecstasy.  A  second^  then 
a  third  stroke  of  the  bell  resounds  ; 
and  proceeding  from  the  left  end 
of  the  corridor,  the  NUNS,  with 
the  ABBESS  at  their  head,  advance 
toward  the  chapel. 
36 


Sister  Beatrice 

THE  ABBESS  (halting  before  the  VIRGIN, 
who,  with  bended  head,  and  hands  dis- 
posed upon  her  breast,  waits  by  the 
closed  door). 

Hear,  Sister  Beatrice.     This  month  of  sun 

Matins  are  rung  a  quarter  short  of  three. 

Now  you  shall  three  days  fast,  shall  three 
nights  pray 

Before  the  Virgin's  feet  that  was  a  mother, 

THE  VIRGIN  (bowing  with  the  humblest 
gestures  of  assent). 

My  Mother,  God  be  praised ! 

[THE    ABBESS,    resuming    her    steps, 
reaches  the  pedestal,  which  before 
'  was  hidden  from  her  by  the  wall 
from  which  springs   the   vaulting 
of  the  great  doorway.     There  she 
is  about  to  kneel,  when,  upon  rais- 
ing her  eyes,  she  stops,  cries  aloud, 
lets  fall  the  book  that  sht  carries., 
37 


Sister  Beatrice 

and  makes  a  gesture  of  unspeak- 
able surprise  and  horror. 

THE  ABBESS. 

She  is  not  there  ! 

[Disquieted,  then  terrified,  the  NUNS 
run  to  the  ABBESS,  surrounding  her 
and  crowding  about  the  pedestal. 
The  first  moment  of  stupefaction 
having  passed,  they  all  speak,  cry 
aloud,  moan,  and  lament  at  the 
same  moment,  by  turns  outraged, 
terrified,  sobbing,  upright,  kneeling, 
prostrated,  or  staggering. 

THE  NUNS. 

She  is  no  longer  there  ! 

The  Virgin  gone ! 
Her  image  has  been  stolen  ! 

Infidels ! 
Our  Mother,  O  our  Mother ! 

Sacrilege  ! 
38 


Sister  Beatrice 

The  cloister  is  profaned  ! 

O  sacrilege  ! 
The  roof  will  fall  upon  us  ! 

Sacrilege ! 
Sacrilege ! 

Sacrilege ! 

Sacrilege ! 

THE  ABBESS  (calling  aloud}. 

Sister  Beatrice ! 

[The  VIRGIN  advances,  and  halts  before 
the  pedestal,  close  to  the  ABBESS. 
She  gazes  fixedly  at  the  spot  where 
her  image  used  to  stand,  and  her 
impassive  eyes  and  face,  as  though 
sealed  from  the  outer  world,  are, 
as  it  were,  radiant  with  an  im- 
perturbable hope  and  silence. 

THE  ABBESS. 

You,  sister  Beatrice,  were  she  in  charge, 
And  it  was  yours  by  day  or  night  to  wake 
39 


Sister  Beatrice 

And  watch  above  the  majesty  of  her 
Who  made  this  convent-house  her  treasury 
Of  graces,  and  to  house  her  predilections: 
I    understand    your   anguish,    and    your 

fear 
I    share.     Yet   fear   you    naught !      Tha 

Will  Divine 

Has  oftentimes  designs  that  must  confound 
Our  vigilance  and  zeal.  But  answer  me ; 
Speak,  for  you  must  have  seen ;  speak, 

you  must  know ! 

\¥he  VIRGIN  is  si  lent. 
Answer  me  !    Speak  !    What  is  amiss  with 

you  ? 
It  seems  to  me  there  is  somewhat  strange 

—  it  seems 

At   moments   that  your    face   grows    ra- 
diant .  .  . 
And   say,  what  are  these  garments,  now 

no  more 
The  same  as  all  we  wear  ?     Why,  do  my 

eyes 

40 


Sister  Beatrice 

Deceive    me?      One   that   looks   at   you 

would  say 
You  are  no  more  the  same.     What  have 

you  there, 
There,  there,  beneath   your  mantle,   this 

that  gleams 
So  brightly  through  it  ? 

\S he  feels  the  VIRGIN'S  mantle. 

Ay,  and  what  this  stuff 
Whose  folds  translucent  run  ablaze  with 

light, 
When  my  hands  touch  it? 

[She  opens  the  VIRGIN'S  mantle,  and 
beholds  the  girdle  of  wrought  gold. 
Mercy  !     What  is  this  ? 
\She  removes  the  mantle  entirely,  and 
in  the  same  moment   of  outraged 
stupefaction   she   snatches   off  the 
'veil  which    covers  the  VIRGIN'S 
hair.,  and  the  latter,  always  mo- 
tionless, and  as  though  insensible, 
appears  suddenly  clothed  after  the 
41 


Sister  Beatrice 

manner  of  and  exactly  in  all  points 
resembling  her  image  that  occupied 
the  pedestal  during  the  First  Act. 
At  this  spectacle  there  falls  on  the 
ABBESS  and  the  NUNS  who  crowd 
round  her  a  moment  of  silent  stu- 
pefaction and  incredulous  anguish. 
Then  the  ABBESS,  who  is  the  first 
to  regain  control  over  herself,  covers 
her  face  with  a  gesture  of  despair- 
ing horror  and  malediction^  and 
cries : 
Lord  God ! 

THE  NUNS. 

Our  Lady  !     She  has  robbed  the  image  S 
Speak,  Sister  Beatrice ! 

She  does  not  answer  ! 
The  Demons  !     O,  the  Demons  ! 

Beware  the  walls ! 
They  will  avenge  themselves  ! 

O  madness,  madness  I 
42 


Sister  Beatrice 

O  horror,  horror  !     Let  us  not  await 
The  thunder-bolt!     O  sacrilege,  sacrilege ! 
Sacrilege  !     Sacrilege ! 

\T"here  is  a  movement  of  recoil,  terror, 
and  flight  among  the  NUNS;  but 
the  ABBESS  restrains  them,  rais- 
ing her  hands  and  her  voice. 

THE  ABBESS. 

Listen  all,  my  daughters ! 
Nay,  do  not  fly  !     Let  us  await  our  lot ; 
Let  us  not  separate ;  let  all  our  hands 
And  all  our  prayers  hedge  in  the  sacrilege, 
And  strive  to  appease  the  ensuing  wrath ! 

SISTER  CLEMENCY. 

I  pray 

Mother,  you  will  not  tarry  ! 

SISTER  FELICITY. 

Let  us  go 

To  find  the  priest ! 

43 


Sister  Beatrice 

SISTER  CLEMENCY. 

I  saw  him  passing  by 
Deep  in  the  chapel. 

THE  ABBESS. 

You  are  right ;  yes,  go, 
Sisters  Felicity  and  Clemency. 
Go    quickly ;    yes,    go    quickly ;    he    will 

know 
Better  than  we  what  should  be  done  to 

stay, 

If  yet  it  be  not  all  too  late  to  stay, 
The  sword  of  the  Archangel,  and  to  foil 
The  triumph  of  the  Accursed  One.     Ah 

me ! 

My  sisters,  my  poor  sisters  !     Horror  has 
A   name   no   longer,  and  our  eyes   have 

plumbed 
The  deepest  abysms  of  hell ! 

SISTER  GISELA  (approaching  the  VIRGIN). 

Profanatrix ! 
44 


Sister  Beatrice 

SISTER  BALBINA  (also  approaching  her). 
Sacrilege !     Sacrilege ! 

SLSTER  REGINA  (beside  herself}. 

Demon  !     Demon  !     Demon  ! 

SISTER  EGLANTINE  (in  a  mournful  and  'very 
gentle  'voice]. 

O,  Sister  Beatrice,  what  have  you  done  ? 
\_At  the  sound  of  this  'voice  the  VIRGIN 
turns  her  head^  and  looks  at  SISTER 
EGLANTINE  with  a  smile  of  divine 
sweetness. 

SISTER  BALBINA  (to  SISTER  EGLANTINE). 
She  looks  at  you. 

SISTER  GISELA. 

She  seems  to  awake. 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 

Perhaps. 

You  did  not  know  — 
45 


Sister  Beatrice 

THE  ABBESS. 

No,  Sister  Eglantine, 
I  will  not  have  you  speak  to  her ! 

\At  this  moment  the  PRIEST,  wearing 
his  priestly  appointments,  appears 
at  the  door  of  the  chapel^  followed 
by  two  NUNS  and  the  terrified 
Choristers. 

THE  PRIEST. 

Pray,  pray ! 
My  sisters,  pray  for  her  ! 

THE  ABBESS  (throwing  herself  on  her  knees'], 
You  know,  my  father   .  .  . 

THE  PRIEST  (in  a  stern  'voice]. 

Hear,  Sister  Beatrice ! 

\T*he  VIRGIN  remains  motionless. 

THE  PRIEST  (in  a  loud  voice]. 

Sister  Beatrice  ! 
VIRGIN  remains  motionless. 
46 


Sister  Beatrice 

THE  PRIEST  (in  a,  terrible  voice}. 

Hear,  Sister  Beatrice !     Now,  for  the  third 

time 

I  call  you,  in  the  name  of  the  living  God, 
Whose  anger  trembles  round  about  these 

walls  — 
I  call  you  by  your  name ! 

THE  ABBESS. 

She  does  not  hear ! 

SISTER  REGINA. 
She  does  not  wish  to  hear ! 

SISTER  BALBINA. 

O  misery ! 
O  woe  to  all  of  us  ! 

SISTER  GISELA. 

Father !     Intercede ! 
Have  pity  on  us  ! 

47 


Sister  Beatrice 

THE  PRIEST. 

Doubt  is  at  an  end. 
Now  do  I  recognise  the  gloomy  pride 
Of  the  Prince  of  Darkness  and  the  Father 
of  Pride  ! 

[Turning  to  the  ABBESS. 

My  sister,  I  deliver  her  to  you, 

And  mark  that  man's  indulgence  nowise 

may 

Cheat  the  prerogatives  of  Love  Divine. 
Go,  go,  my  sisters ;  drag  the  culprit  forth 
To  the  foot  of  the  holy  altars;  then  tear 

off, 

There,  in  the  presence  of  that  One  to  whom 
The  angels  bow  —  there  tear  off,  one  by 

one, 

The  vestments  and  the  gems  of  sacrilege. 
Unloose  your  girdles;  every  scourge  twist 

tight, 

And  from  the  pillars  of  the  portal  take 
The  heavy  lashes  of  prevaricators, 
48 


Sister  Beatrice 

And    rods    of  grievous    penance.      May 

your  arms 

Be  cruel,  may  your  hands  be  pitiless ! 
Mercy  it  is  that  lends  them  strength,  and 

Love 

That  blesses  them  !     Go  forth,  my  sisters, 
go! 

\_The  NUNS  drag  the  VIRGIN  away. 
She  walks  indifferent  in  their 
midsty  docile  and  impassive.  All, 
save  SISTER  EGLANTINE,  have 
already  untied  the  double-knotted 
cords  which  gird  their  loins.  They 
enter  the  chapel,  and  the  doors 
close;  only  the  PRIEST  remains, 
and  bows  himself  before  the  for- 
saken pedestal.  There  is  for  some 
time  silence.  Suddenly  a  song 
of  unspeakable  sweetness  filters 
through  the  doors  of  the  chapel. 
It  is  the  sacred  canticle  of  the 
VIRGIN,  the  Ave  Mar  is  Stella, 
4  49 


Sister  Beatrice 

which  sounds  as  though  sung  by 
the  distant  voices  of  angels.  Little 
by  little  the  hymn  becomes  more 
distinct,  draws  near,  grows  fuller, 
becomes  universal,  as  though  an 
invisible  host,  ever  more  and  more 
innumerable,  took  it  up  with  a 
might  ever  more  and  more  ardent, 
ever  more  and  more  celestial.  At 
the  same  time  there  is  heard  from 
within  the  chapel  the  sound  of 
teats  overturned,  of  candelabras 
falling,  of  stalls  thrown  into  con- 
fusion, and  the  exclamations  of 
terrified  human  voices.  Finally 
the  two  leaves  of  the  door  are 
violently  thrown  wide,  and  the 
nave  appears  all  inundated  with 
flames  and  strange  splendours, 
which  undulate,  blossom  forth, 
gyrate,  and  sweep  past  one  an- 
other, infinitely  more  dazzling  than 
5° 


Sister  Beatrice 

the  splendour  of  the  sun  whose  rays 
light  the  corridor.  Then,  amid 
the  delirious  Alleluias  and  Ho- 
sannas  which  burst  forth  on 
every  hand  —  confounded^  hag- 
gard, transfigured,  mad  with  joy 
and  superhuman  awe,  waving 
armsful  of  blossoming  boughs  that 
overflow  with  miraculous  flowers 
which  increase  their  ecstasy^  en- 
veloped from  head  to  foot  in  living 
garlands  which  fetter  their  steps, 
blinded  by  the  rain  of  flower- 
petals  which  stream  from  the 
vaulting  —  the  NUNS  tumult  u- 
ously  surge  into  the  too  narrow 
doorway^  and  uncertainly  descend 
the  steps,  encumbered  by  the  mar- 
vellous showers ;  and  while  at 
each  step  they  strip  their  burdens 
of  their  flowers,  only  to  see  them 
renewing  themselves  in  their  handst 
51 


Sister  Beatrice 

they  surround  the  ancient  PRIEST, 
who  now  again  stands  upright^ 
those  that  follow  advancing  in  turn 
through  the  billows  of  blossoms  that 
surge  continually  over  the  steps  of 
the  chapel-door. 

THE  NUNS  (all  together  and  on  every  hand> 
while  they  emerge  from  the  chapel^  Jill 
the  corridor^  singing  and  embracing  one 
another  amid  the  deluge  of  flowers}. 

A  miracle ! 

A  miracle  ! 

A  miracle  ! 
My  father,  O,  my  father  ! 

I  am  blind  ! 
My  father,  O  my  father ! 

A  miracle  ! 
Hosanna ! 

O,  Hosanna  ! 

O,  the  Lord 
52 


Sister  Beatrice 

Is  close  about  us !     O,  the  Heavens  are 

open  ! 

The  angels  overwhelm  us,  and  the  flowers 
Pursue  us  !    Hosanna !    Hosanna!    Sister 

Beatrice 
Is    holy !       Ring    the    bell,    O    peal    the 

bell, 
Until   the   bronze   be   shattered !     She  is 

holy! 
Ah,  Sister  Beatrice  is  holy,  holy  ! 

SISTER  REGINA. 

I    sought   to   touch    her   holy  vestments. 
Then  — 

SISTER  EGLANTINE  (crowned  with  flowers 
more  radiant  than  the  rest], 

The  flames  brake  forth,  the  shafts  of  light 
spoke ! 

SISTER  CLEMENCY. 

The  angels  of  the  altars  toward  us  turned  ! 
S3 


Sister  Beatrice 

SISTER  GISELA. 

The  saints   bowed  over  her,  and  joined 
their  hands  ! 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 
And  all  the  statues  of  the  pillars  knelt ! 

SISTER  FELICITY. 

The  archangels  all   their  wings  unfurled 
and  sang ! 

SISTER  GISELA  (waving  heavy  garlands  of 
roses). 

And  living  roses  brake  her  bonds  in  twain  ! 

SISTER  BALBINA  (waving  enormous  stems  of 
lilies]. 

Miraculous  lilies  blossomed  on  the  rods ! 

SISTER   FELICITY  (waving   luminous  palm- 
branches}. 

The  lashes  blazed  into  long  golden  palms  ! 
54 


Sister  Beatrice 

THE  ABBESS  (kneeling  at   the  feet   of  the 
PRIEST). 

My  father,  O  my  father,  I  have  sinned. 
For  Sister  Beatrice  is  holy  ! 

THE  PRIEST  (kneeling  also], 

Yea! 
My  daughters,  yea,  my  daughters,  I  have 

sinned  ! 
LJehold  the  ways  of  God  past  finding  out ! 

\_At  this  moment  there  is  heard  a  knock 
on  the  entrance-door  of  the  convent, 
and  the  VIRGIN,  once  more  human 
of  aspect,  and  humbly  clad  in  the 
mantle  and  veil  of  BEATRICE, 
appears  in  the  threshold  of  the 
chapel.  She  descends  the  steps, 
her  eyes  downcast  and  her  hands 
folded  together,  passes  among  her 
kneeling  sisters,  over  the  flowers, 
which  stand  erect  as  she  goes,  and 
55 


Sister  Beatrice 

resuming,  as  if  nothing  had  hap- 
pened, the  duties  of  her  charge,  she 
goes  to  the  door  and  throws  it 
open  wide.  'Three  pilgrims  enter, 
poor,  old,  and  haggard,  to  whom 
she  bows  low,  and  taking  from  a 
tripod  of  bronze  near  by  the  as- 
pergus  and  the  basin  of  silver,  she 
sprinkles  the  water  over  their  pon- 
derous hands  in  silence. 


THE    END   OF   THE    SECOND    ACT. 


ACT   THE   THIRD 

The  scene  is  the  same.  On  the  -pedestal  the 
image  of  the  VIRGIN  stands ,  as  in  the 
First  Act ;  the  veil,  mantle ',  and  keys 
of  SISTER  BEATRICE  are  hanging  on 
the  grille  ;  the  chapel-door  is  open,  and 
the  candles  of  the  altar  are  lit;  the 
lamp  is  burning  before  the  image,  and 
the  poor-basket  overflows  with  clothing : 
in  a  word,  all  is  precisely  as  it  was  at 
the  moment  when  the  NUN  fled  with 
PRINCE  BELLIDOR,  except  that  the  en- 
trance-door of  the  convent  is  now  closed. 
It  is  early  dawn  in  winter :  the  last 
strokes  of  matins  are  heard,  though  no 
one  rings  the  bell,  and  in  the  porch  of 
the  chapel  the  bell-rope  is  seen  to  rise 
57 


Sister  Beatrice 

and  fall  in  empty  air.     Then,  the  bell  t 
having  ceased  to  sound,  a  silence  falls, 
•which  is  broken  by  three  blows  struck 
slowly  on  the  convent  door.      At  the 
third  blow  the  door  moves  without  sound 
on  its  hinges,  though  no  one  opens  it ; 
and  the  two  leaves  are  thrown   wide 
open    on    the    white,    desolate,    vacant 
countryside ;    and,    amid   the    whirling 
of  the   snow   which    drives  upon    the 
threshold  there  advances,  haggard,  thin, 
and  unrecognisable,  she  who  was  once 
SISTER    BEATRICE.       She   is   covered 
with  rags ;  her  hair,  already  grey,  is 
scattered  over  her  face,  which  is  griev- 
ously pinched   and   livid.      Her   eyes, 
bruised  and  black,  have  in  them  only 
the  remote  and  impassive  gaze  of  those 
who  are  about  to  die,  and  hold  no  longer 
any  shadow  of  hope.     She  halts  a  mo- 
ment in  the  open  doorway,  and  then,  as 
sbe  beholds  no  one,  she  enters,  swaying, 
58 


Sister  Beatrice 

groping,  and  leaning  on  the  doors,  sweep* 
ing  the  corridor  with  her  eyes,  with  the 
uneasiness  of  an  animal  long  bunted. 
But  the  corridor  is  empty,  and  she  takes 
a  few  more  fearful  steps,  until,  perceiv- 
ing the  image  of  the  VIRGIN,  she  gives 
a  cry,  in  which  are  mingled  who  shall 
say  what  vain  and  weary  hopes  of 
deliverance  ?  —  and  throws  herself, 
kneeling  and  fainting,  at  the  feet  of 
the  statue. 

BEATRICE. 

My  Mother,  I  am  here  !     Repulse  me 

not, 

For  you  are  all  I  have  now  in  the  world ! 
I  hoped  that  I  should  see  you  once  again, 
And   I   have  come  too  l^te,  because  my 

eyes 

Are  closing  :   I  no  longer  see  you  smile  ; 
And  when   I   stretch  my  hands  out  after 

you 

59 


Sister  Beatrice 

I  feel  they  are  dead.     I  have  forgotten  how 
To  pray,  I  have  forgotten  how  to  speak, 
And  —  since  I  needs  must  tell  you  every- 
thing — 

I  have  wept  so  many  tears  that  long  ago 
I  lost  all  heart  ever  to  cry  again. 
Forgive  me,  O  forgive  me,  if  I  speak 
A  name  that  never  should  again  be  heard: 
You  would  not  recognise  your  daughter 
else. 

0  see  to  what  estate   have   brought  her 

love, 
And  sin,  and  all  that  men  call  happiness ! 

1  left  you  more  than  twenty  years  ago ; 
And  if  so  be  't  is  not  the  will  of  God 
Men  should  be  happy,  surely  then  to  me 
He  should  intend  no  ill,  for  happy  —  O, 
I    have   not  been   that !     Thus   I   to-day 

return, 

But  ask  for  nothing,  for  the  hour  is  gone, 
And  to  receive  I  have  no  longer  strength. 
I  come  to  die  here  in  this  holy  house, 
60 


Sister  Beatrice 

If  but  my  sisters  will  permit  that  I 

Fall  where  I  fall.     O,  never  doubt,  they 

know  ! 

The  scandal  of  my  life  has  been  so  great 
Down  yonder  in  the  town,  they  will  have 

heard  .  .  . 

But  they,  they  know  so  little ;  even  you, 
You  who  know  all  things,  you  will  never 

know 
The  wickedness  that  they  have  made  me 

do, 
And  all  that  I  have  suffered. 

I  would  fain 
Tell  them  to  all,  the  agonies  of  love ! 

[Looking  around  her. 

But  why  am  I  alone  ?     Lo,  all  the  house 
Is  void  as  though   my  sins  had  emptied 

it  ... 

O,  who  has  taken  up  the  place  I  fled, 
My  place  before  the  holy  altars,  who  ? 
Who  guards   the   threshold  that  my  feet 

have  soiled  ? 

61 


Sister  Beatrice 

The  lamp  is  lit :  I  see  the  tapers  shine ; 
Matins  have  rung,  and  here  behold  the 

day 
That  grows,  and  none  appears. 

[Perceiving  the  mantle  and  veil  that 
bung  upon  the  grille. 

But  what  is  here  ? 

[She  raises  herself  a  little,  draws  nearer 
on  her  knees,  and  feels  the  veil  and 
mantle. 

Already  my  poor  hands  are  so  near  death 
They  know  no  longer  if  the  things  they 

touch 

Are  things  of  this  life  or  the  other  world : 

But  is  not  this  the  mantle  that  I  left  .  .  . 

Yesterday  .  .  .  five-and-twenty  years  ago  ? 

[Faking  up  the  mantle  and  mechanically 

•putting  it  on. 
It  seems  the  shape  —  and  yet  seems  very 

lo.ng. 

When  I  was  happy,  when  I  went  erect, 
It  fitted  well  enough.         [faking  the  veil 
62 


Sister  Beatrice 

Now  the  long  veil, 
That  now  shall  be  my  winding-sheet.     O 

Mother, 

Forgive  me  if  it  be  a  sacrilege  ! 
1  am  cold,  I  am  naked  ;  for  my  wretched 

clothes 

No  longer  know  my  body  how  to  hide, 
That  knows  no  longer  where  to  hide 

itself. 
Was  it  not  you,  my  Mother,  kept  them 

safe, 

Is  it  not  you  who  give  them  to  me  now 
Against  the  hour  redoubtable,  that  thus 
The  pitiless  flames  that  wait  me  may 

perhaps 
A  little  hesitate  and  be  less  cruel  ? 

\_A  sound  of  steps  and  of  opening  doors 

is  heard. 
What  do  I  hear  ? 

[Three  strokes  of  the  bell  resound,  an- 
nouncing^ as  before,  the  arrival  of 
'   the  NUNS  in  the  corridor. 
63 


Sister  Beatrice 

What  do  I  hear?     O  Mother! 
The   door   swings   open,  and   my   sisters 

come ! 

I  cannot !     Never  !     O,  have  pity,  pity  ! 
For  the  walls  crush  me,  the  light  suffocates, 
And  shame,  shame,  shame,  is  graven  on 

the  stones 

That  rise  up,  up  against  me  !    Ah !     Ah  ! 
Ah! 

[She  falls  fainting  at  the  feet  of  the 
image.  'The  NUNS,  preceded  by 
the  ABBESS,  advance  along  the 
vaulted  passage,  as  in  the  preceding 
Act,  on  their  way  to  the  chapel. 
Many  of  them  are  very  old;  and 
the  ABBESS  walks  painfully,  bent 
double,  supporting  herself  on  a 
staff.  Scarcely  have  they  entered 
but  they  perceive  BEATRICE  lying 
motionless  across  the  corridor',  they 
run  to  her  and  crowd  about  her, 
uneasy,  frightened,  and  dismayed. 
64 


Sister  Beatrice 

THE  ABBESS  (who  first  sees  her). 
O,  Sister  Beatrice  is  dead  I 

SISTER  CLEMENCY. 

The  Heavens 
Gave  her,  the  Lord  has  taken  her  away  ! 

SISTER  FELICITY. 

Her  crown  was  ready,  and  the  angels 
called. 

SISTER  EGLANTINE  (raising  and  supporting 
the  head  of  SISTER  BEATRICE,  which 
she  kisses  with  a  kind  of  pious  awe). 

No,  no,  she  is  not  dead :  she  shudders, 
breathes  ! 

THE  ABBESS. 

But  look,  how  pale  she  is  !  But  see,  how 
thin! 

5  65 


Sister  Beatrice 

SISTER  CLEMENCY. 

As  though   one   night  had  aged  her  ten 
long  years  ! 

SISTER  FELICITY. 

She  must  have  suffered,  striving,  till  the 
dawn ! 

SISTER  CLEMENCY. 

And  all  alone  against  the  angelic  host 
That  sought  to  draw  her  hence ! 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 

She  suffered  much 

Already  yesternight;  she  trembled,  wept, 
Who,  ever  since  the  miracle  of  flowers, 
Nursed  in  her  eyes  that  smile  miraculous. 
She  would  not  have  me  take  her  place ; 

she  said 

"  I    wait,"    she    said,    "  until    my    saint 
returns." 

66 


Sister  Beatrice 

SISTER  BALBINA. 
What  saint  ? 

\¥he  ABBESS,  raising  her  eyes  at  hazard^ 
sees  the  image  of  the  VIRGIN  re- 
established in  the  pedestal.  'The 
NUNS  raise  their  he  ads  >  and,  with 
the  exception  of  SISTER  EGLAN- 
TINE, who  continues  to  hold  the 
fainting  form  of  BEATRICE  in  her 
armSy  they  all  turn  with  cries  of 
ecstasy  and  throw  themselves  on 
their  knees  at  the  foot  of  the 
pedestal. 

THE  NUNS. 

The  Virgin  has  returned  !     Our  Lady ! 
Our  Mother  is  saved !     And  she  has  all 

her  jewels  ! 
Her  crown  is  brighter,  and  her  eyes  more 

deep, 

And  sweeter  her  regard !     She  has  come 
back 

67 


Sister  Beatrice 

From  Heaven,  and  brought  Heaven  back 

again  to  us ! 
Yea,    on    the  wings    of   her    most    holy 

prayers  .   .  . 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 

Come,  come  !     I  hear  her  heart  no  longer! 
Come ! 

[The  NUNS  turn  and  once  more  crowd 
about  BEATRICE. 

SISTER  CLEMENCY  (kneeling  near  her}. 

Ah,  Sister  Beatrice,  you  shall  not  leave 
Your  sisters  on  this  high  miraculous  day  J 

SISTER  FELICITY. 
The  Virgin  smiles  on  you ;  her  lips  appeal ! 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 

Alas,   she   cannot    hear !      She   seems   to 

suffer  ; 

Her  face  grows  hollow  — 
68 


Sister  Beatrice 

SISTER  CLEMENCY. 

Bear  her  to  her  bed 
Come,  let  us  bear  her  yonder  to  her  cell. 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 

No:  let  us  rather  leave  her  nigh  to  Her 
Who  loves  and  fences  her  with  miracles. 
\_The    NUNS   enter  the  cell,  returning 
with  cloaks  and  linen  sheets,  on 
which  they  lay  BEATRICE  at  the 
feet  of  the  statue, 

SISTER   CLEMENCY. 

She  cannot  breathe  —  undo  her  veil  and 
mantle. 
\She  does  as  she  advises,  and  the  NUNS 

behold    BEATRICE    covered    with 

rags. 

SISTER  FELICITY. 

My  Mother,  have  you  seen  her  dripping 
rags? 


Sister  Beatrice 

SISTER  BALBINA. 
O,  she  is  quite   benumbed  with  melting 


snow ! 

SISTER  CLEMENCY. 

We  never  knew  her  hair  had  grown  so 
white. 

SISTER  FELICITY. 

Her  naked   feet  are  soiled  with  wayside 
mire  ! 

THE  ABBESS. 

Hold  we  our  peace,  my  daughters  ;  for  we 

live 
Near  heaven ;  the  hands  that  touch  her 

will  remain 
Luminous. 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 

See,  her  breast  is  heaving  !     See  ! 
Her  eyes  are  going  to  open  ! 

[BEATRICE  opens  her  eyes,  moves  her 
bead  a  little,  and  gazes  about  her. 
70 


Sister  Beatrice 

BEATRICE  (as  though  emerging  from  a  dream> 
and  still  bewildered,  in  a  remote  voice). 

When  they  died  — 
My  children  —  when  they  died.  .  .  .  Why 

do  you  smile  ? 
They  died  of  want. 

THE  ABBESS. 

We  do  not  smile  ;  we  are  glad, 
Ay,  glad  to  see  you  coming  back  to  life. 

BEATRICE. 

I   coming  back  to  life  ! 

[Looking    about   her   with    advancing 
recognition. 

Yes,  I  remember, 

I  came  here  in  the  depth  of  my  distress. 
Look  on  me  not  so  fearfully  :   I  no  more 
Shall  be  the  butt  of  scandal :  you  shall  now 
Have  all  your  will  of  me.     No,  none  shall 
know, 


Sister  Beatrice 

If  you  should  fear  that  any  should  «ver 

tell- 

I  shall  say  nothing.     I  submit  to  all, 
For  they  have  broken  all  my  body  and  soul. 
I  know  it  cannot  be  allowed  that  I, 
Here  in  this  place,  and  at  the  Virgin's  feet, 
So  near  the  chapel,  and  so  near  to  all 
That  holy  is  and  pure,  should  die.     You 

are  all, 

O,  very  good  ;  you  have  been  patient ;  yes  ; 
You  have  not  cast  me  out  of  doors  at  once. 
But  if  you  may,  if  God  allow  it  too, 
O,  do  not  cast  me  forth  too  far  from  here  ! 
There  is  no  need  that  any  tend  me  now, 
No  need  that  any  me  commiserate, 
Though  I  am  very  sick',  I  suffer  now 
No  more,  no  more.   .  .   .  Why  have  you 

laid  me  here, 
On    these    fair    sheets   of  white  ?     Alas  ! 

white  sheets 

Are  nothing  to  me  now  hut  a  reproach, 
And  straw  polluted  is  the  fitting  bed 
7* 


Sister  Beatrice 

Of  dying  sin.     But  you  still  look  at  me, 
And  still  say  nothing.     And  you  do  not 

look 

Angry.     I  see  tears  in  your  eyes.     I  think 
You  do  not  know  me  yet. 

THE  ABBESS  (kissing  her  bands). 

But  yes,  yes,  yes  ! 

Surely  we  know  you,  surely  —  you,  our 
saint ! 

BEATRICE  (snatching  away  her  hands  in  a 
kind  of  terror). 

Kiss  not  these  hands  —  they  have  done  so 
much  ill  ! 

SISTER  CLEMENCY  (kissing  her  feet}. 
O  soul  elect  come  down  to  us  from  heaven! 

BEATRICE. 
Kiss  not  these  feet  that  used  to  run  to  sin! 

73 


Sister  Beatrice 

SISTER  EGLANTINE  (kissing  her  forehead). 

I    kiss    this    pure    brow,    crowned    with 
miracles. 

BEATRICE  (biding  her  face  in  her  hands). 

What  would  you  all  ?    What  has  befallen  ? 

Once, 
When    I    was    happy,    one    was    never 

pardoned  ; 
Kiss  not  this  brow :   it  has  been  friends 

with  lust ! 
But  you  that  touched  it,  tell  me  who  you 

are? 

I  am  not  certain  if  my  weary  eyes 
Betray  me;  but  if  they  see  yonder  still, 
You  are  Sister  Eglantine. 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 

Yes,  I  am  she. 

That  Sister    Eglantine  whom    you    have 
loved. 

74 


Sister  Beatrice 

BEATRICE. 

You,  five-and-twenty  years  ago,  I  told 
I  was  unhappy. 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 

Five-and-twenty  years 
Since,  among  all  our  sisters,  God  chose 
you. 

BEATRICE. 

You  tell  me  that,  and  no  least  bitterness 
Lurks  in  your  voice.   What  has  befallen  me 
I  cannot  fathom.      I  am  weak  and  ill, 
And  cannot  recollect  —  and  every  word 
Astounds  me.      I  was  inattentive.     See, 
I   think  that  you  deceive  yourselves.     I 

am  — 

Cover  your  faces,  make  the  holy  sign  !  — 
I  am  Sister  Beatrice  ! 

THE  ABBESS. 

But  yes,  we  know  ! 
Our  Sister  Beatrice,  our  sister,  ours, 
75 


Sister  Beatrice 

Purest  among  us,  the  miraculous  lamb, 
Godchild  of  angels,  the  immaculate  flame! 

BEATRICE. 

Ah,  is  it  truly  you  ?     I  did  not  know. 
Mother,  you  used  to  go  so  upright ;   now 
How  you  do  stoop  !     I  have  also  learned 

to  stoop, 

And  now  behold  me  fallen.     Yes,  I  know 
All  of  you :  there  is  Sister  Clemency. 

SISTER  CLEMENCY   (bending   her  head  and 

smiling). 
Yes,  yes. 

BEATRICE. 

Sister  Felicity. 

SISTER  FELICITY  (smiling). 

It  is. 

Sister  Felicity  who  came  the  first 
Out  of  the  blossoming  chapel. 
76 


Sister  Beatrice 

BEATRICE. 

And  I  think 
You  have  not  suffered,  for  you  seem  not 

sad. 
I  was  the  younger :   I  am  the  elder  now. 

THE  ABBESS. 

Tnat  is  no  doubt  because  of  love  divine 
Being  a  terrible  burden. 

BEATRICE. 

Mother,  no. 

It  is  the  love  of  man  that  is  the  burden, 
The  weary  burden.     You  do  pardon  me, 
You  also  pardon  me  ? 

THE  ABBESS  (kneeling  at  BEATRICE'S/"^/). 

O  daughter  mine, 

If  any  have  need  of  pardon,  it  is  she 
Who  can  at  last  prostrate  herself  before 
Your  feet. 

77 


Sister  Beatrice 

BEATRICE. 
But  do  you  know  what  I  have  done  ? 

THE  ABBESS. 

You  have  done  naught  but  miracle,  have 

been 
Since  the  great  day  of  flowers,  our  soul's 

light, 

The  incense  of  our  prayers,  and  the  source 
Of  grace,  the  gate  of  marvels  ! 

BEATRICE. 

But  I  fled 

One  night,  now  five-and-twenty  years  ago, 
With  the  Prince  Bellidor. 

THE  ABBESS. 

Of  whom  do  you  speak, 
Of  whom  do  you  speak,  my  daughter? 

BEATRICE. 

Of  myself ! 
I  say  myself!     You  will  not  understand? 


Sister  Beatrice 

One  evening,  five-and-twenty  years  ago, 
I  fled,  and  when  three  months  were  at  an 

end 
He  did   not  love   me.     Then  I  lost  all 

shame, 

I  lost  all  reason,  and  I  lost  all  hope. 
All  men  by  turns  this  body  have  profaned, 
r^his  clay  to  its   God  unfaithful.     And  I 

took 

Pleasure  in  this,  and  called  men  after  me. 
I  fell  so  low  that  Heaven's  angels  thence 
Could  not  have  risen  for  all  their  mighty 

wings. 

So  many  crimes  I  have  committed,  I 
Have  often  even  sin  itself  defiled  ! 

THE  ABBESS  (gently  placing  her  hand  on 
BEATRICE'S  lips). 

Daughter,  the  Shadow  tempts  you  ;  speak 

no  more, 

For  rising  anguish  robs  you  of  yourself. 
79 


Sister  Beatrice 

SISTER  CLEMENCY. 
She  is  worn  out  with  miracle. 

SISTER  FELICITY. 

And  grace 
Confounds  her. 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 
The  air  of  heaven  weighs  her  down. 

BEATRICE  (who  struggles,  pushes  away  the 
band  of  the  ABBESS  and  sits  up). 

I  do  not  wander  !     No,  I  tell  you,  no  ! 
This  is  no  air  of  heaven,  but  of  earth, 
And  this  is  truth  !     Ah,  you  are  all  too 

mild! 

You  are  too  soft  and  imperturbable  ! 
And  you  know  nothing  !     I  would  rather 

far  v 

You  should  afflict  me,  but  should  learn  at 

last! 

O,  you  live  here  and  do  your  penances, 
So 


Sister  Beatrice 

And  say  your  prayers,  and  seek  to  expiate 

sin, 

But  look  you,  it  is  I,  and  all  my  kind, 
Who  live  beyond  the  pale  and  have  no 

rest, 

That  do  the  bitterest  penance  to  the  end ! 
I 

ABBESS. 
Pray,  pray,  my  sisters;  now  the  final  trial? 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 
The  triumph  of  the  angel's  irks  the  Fiend  ! 

BEATRICE. 

Yes,  yes,  it  is  the  Fiend,  the  Fiend 
prevails  ! 

See  you  these  hands  ?  They  have  a  hu- 
man shape 

No  longer ;  see,  they  cannot  open  now. 

I  had  to  sell  them  after  soul  and  body. 

They  buy  hands  also  when  no  more  is  left 
6  81 


Sister  Beatrice 

THE  ABBESS  (wiping  the  sweat  from 
BEATRICE'S  face). 

May  Heaven's  angels,  who  about  thy 
couch 

Now  watch  thee,  deign  before  thy  stream- 
ing face 

To  spread  their  wings  ! 

BEATRICE. 

Ah  !     Heaven's  angels  !     Ah  ! 
Where  are  they,  tell  me,  and  what  do  they 

do? 
Have  I  not  told  you  ?     Why,  I  have  not 

now 
My  children,  for  the  three   most  lovely 

died 

When  I  no  more  was  lovely,  and  the  last, 
Lest  it  should  suffer,  being  one  night  mad, 
I  killed.  And  there  were  others  never 

born, 
Although  they  cried  for  birth.     And  still 

the  sun 

82 


Sister  Beatrice 

Shone,  and  the  stars  returned,  and  justice 

slept, 
And  only  the  most  evil  were  happy  and 

proud. 

THE  ABBESS. 
The  strife  is  terrible  about  great  saints. 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 

It  is  at  Heaven's  gates  the  infernal  fire 
Wastes  the  huge  angers  of  its  futile  rage. 

BEATRICE  (falling  back  exhausted). 

I  care  no  more  —  I  stifle  —  what  you  will 
Be  done  to  me.     I  had  to  tell  you  all. 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 
The  archangels  bear  her  forth. 

SISTER  FELICITY. 

The  phalanxes 

Of  the  celestial  host  have  brought  back 
peace. 

83 


Sister  Beatrice 

THE  ABBESS. 

The   evil    dream    has    fled.      Now  smile1 

again, 

My  poor  and  holy  sister,  while  you  think 
On  all  the  blasphemies  you  did  not  speak- 
A  baneful  voice  usurping  on  your  lips 
Exhaled  them  in  the  rage  of  final  loss. 

BEATRICE. 
It  was  my  voice. 

THE  ABBESS. 

My  good  and  holy  sister, 
Assure    your   heart,    and    have    you    no 

regrets. 
For   that  was  not  the  voice  that  all  we 

know, 
The   dear   and  gentle  voice,  the    angel's 

pilot, 

The  health  of  sickness,  that  so  many  years 
Quickened  our  prayers. 
84 


Sister  Beatrice 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 

Fear  nothing,  sister ;  nay, 
In  the  last  conflict  you  shall  never  lose 
The  palm  and  diadem  of  a  life  of  love, 
And  innocence,  and  prayer. 

BEATRICE. 

Never  one  hour 

Since  that  unhappy  hour,  in  all  my  life, 
There  never  was  an   hour  that  was   not 

marked 
By  mortal  sin. 

THE  ABBESS. 

My  daughter,  pray  to  God ! 
You  are  most  holy  ;  yet  the  enemy 
Tempts  you,  and  scruples  lead  your  sense 

astray. 
How  should  you  have  committed  all  these 

sins 
So  dreadful  ?     It  ip  nigh  on  thirty  years 


Sister  Beatrice 

You  have  been  here,  of  threshold  and  of 

altar 

Most  humble  servitor  :  my  very  eyes 
Have  followed  you  in  all  your  deeds  and 

prayers, 

And  I  can  answer  before  God  for  them 
As  I  would  for  my  own.     But  would  to 

Heaven 
That  mine  were  like  to  yours!     It  is  not 

here, 

Within   these   cloisters,  but  without,  be- 
yond, 
Out    in    the    world    estrayed,    that    sin 

triumphs : 
And  of  that  world,  all  thanks  to  God,  you 

know 

Nothing,  for  never  have  you  issued  forth 
Out  of  the  shadow  of  the  sanctuary. 

BEATRICE. 
Never  gone  forth  ?     O,  I   can   think  no 


more  I 


86 


Sister  Beatrice 

It  was  too  long,  so  long,  too  long  ago  ! 
I  am  near  death  ;  but  you  should  tell  me 

truth  ; 

Is  it  that  you  forgive  me,  or  deceive, 
Unwilling  I  should  know  it  ? 

THE  ABBESS. 

None  deceives, 
None  pardons.     We  have  seen  you  every 

day 

Before  the  altar  punctual,  to  our  hours 
Attentive,  and  to  all  the  humble  cares 
Of  alms  and  of  the  threshold. 

BEATRICE. 

I  am  here, 

My  Mother,  and  I  do  not  think  I  dream. 
Look  at  this  hand  :  I  tear  it  with  my  nails; 
See,  the  blood  shows  and  flows  ;  the  blood 

is  real. 

I  have  no  other  proofs.     So  tell  me  now, 
If  you  have  pity,  here,  in  face  of  God, 
For  we  are  close  to  God  when  people  die, — 
87 


Sister  Beatrice 

If  you  do  wish  it,  I  will  say  no  more, 
But  if  you  can  for  pity  tell  me,  now, 
What  did  you  say,  and  what  it  was  you  did 
When  five-and-twenty  years  ago  you  found 
One  morning  that  the  door  was  opened 

wide, 

The  corridor  deserted  —  when  you  found 
The  altar  abandoned  —  when  you  found 

the  veil, 
The  veil  and  mantle  ?  .  .  .  Mother,  I  can 

no  more. 

THE  ABBESS. 

Daughter,  this  memory,  1  understand, 
Must  trouble  you  and  overwhelm  you  still, 
Though  five-and-twenty  years  ago  befell 
The  wondrous  miracle  whereby  your  God 
Elected  you.     The  Virgin  left  us  then, 
To  mount  again  to  heaven  ;  ere  she  went 
Investing  you  with  her  most  holy  robe 
And  sacred  ornaments,  and  lastly  crowned 
You  with  her  golden  crown,  to  teach  us  so 
88 


Sister  Beatrice 

In  boundless  mercy  that  while  she  was  gone 
You  took  her  place. 

BEATRICE. 
But  who  then  took  my  place  ? 

THE  ABBESS. 

Why,  no  one  took  it,  since  you  still  were 
there. 

BEATRICE. 

There,  every  day  ?     I  was  among  you  all  ? 
I  moved,  I  spoke,  you  touched  me  with 
your  hands? 

THE  ABBESS. 

As  now,  my  child,  I  touch  you  with  ray 
hand. 

BEATRICE. 

Mother,  I  know  no  more ;  except  I  think 

I  have  no  longer  strength  to  understand. 

I  am  still  submissive,  and  I  ask  you  naught. 

89 


Sister  Beatrice 

I  feel  that  all  are  very  good  :  I  feel 
That  death  is  very  gentle. 

Is  it  you 
Who  understand  the  soul  is  wretched  — 

you  ? 
There  was  no  pardon  here  when  here  I 

lived. 

I  have  said  often,  when  I  was  not  happy, 
God  would  not  punish  if  He  once  knew  all. 
But  you  are  happy,  and  have  learned  it  all. 
In  other  days  all  folk  ignored  distress, 
In  other  days  they  cursed  all  those  that 

sinned  ; 
But    now    all    pardon,    and    all    seem    to 

know  .  .   . 

One  of  the  angels,  one  would  almost  say, 
Had  spoken  out  the  truth.      Mother,  and 

you, 

My  Sister  Eglantine,  give  me  your  hands  — 
You  are  not  angry  with  me  ?  Tell  them  all, 
My  sisters  .  .  .  what  is  it  they  should  be 

told? 

90 


Sister  Beatrice 

My  eyes  no  longer  open,  and  my  lips 
Stiffen.  ...  At  last  I  fall  asleep.     I  have 

lived 

In  a  world  wherein  I  knew  not  what  desired 
Hate  and  ill-will,  and  in  another  world 
I  die,  and  understand  not  what  desire, 
Nor  whereat  aim  mercy  and  love. 

\_Sbe  falls  back   exhausted   among  the 
sheets.     Silence. 

SISTER  EGLANTINE. 

She  sleeps. 

THE  ABBESS. 

Pray,  pray,  my  sisters,  till  the  triumphant 
hour  ! 

NUNS  fall  on  their  knees  around 
the  bed  of  BEATRICE. 

THE    END    OF    SISTER    BEATRICE 


ARDIANE  AND  BARBE  BLEUE 

OR, 

THE   USELESS   DELIVERANCE 


THE   PERSONS   OF   THE   PLA1 

ARDIANE 

SELYSETTE 

MELISANDE 

YGRAINE 

BELLANGERE 

ALLADINE 

A  NURSE  (foster-mother  to  ARDIANK) 

BARBE  BLEUE 

Peasants,  the  Crowd. 


ARDIANE   AND   BARBE 
BLEUE 

ACT   THE    FIRST 

A  vast,  resplendent  ball,  of  semi-circular 
form,  in  the  castle  of  BARBE  BLEUE. 
At  the  remoter  end,  in  the  centre  of 
the  semi-circular  wall,  is  an  enormous 
door ;  on  either  hand  of  this  are  three 
smaller  doors,  of  ebony,  with  locks  and 
ornaments  of  silver ;  each  door  is  set 
within  a  niche,  and  all  these  niches  are 
enclosed  by  a  semi-circular  colonnade  of 
marble,  the  pillars  of  which  support  the 
balcony  overhead.  Above  these  doors, 
but  set  further  back,  are  six  great  win- 
dows, to  which  the  aforesaid  balcony 
95 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

gives  access ;  these  may  be  gained  from 
either  side,  of  the  ball,  by  two  flights  of 
stairs,  which  follow  the  curve  of  the 
walls,  and  lead  up  to  the  semi-circular 
gallery. 

It  is  evening ;  the  great  windows  are  open, 
and  the  candelabra  lit.  Without,  below 
the  windows,  is  an  invisible,  excited 
crowd,  whose  cries,  now  uneasy,  now 
terrified,  now  threatening,  together  with 
the  sound  of  sudden  movements,  the 
trampling  of  feet,  and  the  murmur  of 
persons  speaking,  are  heard  with  great 
distinctness.  During  the  first  bars  of 
the  overture  the  curtain  rises,  and  the 
voices  of  the  hidden  crowd  are  at  once 
heard  above  the  music. 

VOICES  IN  THE  CROWD. 

So  ...  she  was  in  the  chariot  ?     Did 

you  see  ? 

All  the  village  lingered  there, 
96 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

There,  to  see  her.  ...  Is  she  fair  ? 

She   looked   at  me.  .  .  .  And    me.  .  .  , 

And  me. 

O  miserable  child  !  .  .  .  Yet  all  the  while 
She  seemed  to  smile. 
Whence  hath  she  come?  .  .  .  From  very 

far  away, 
To  know  not  .  .  .  what  awaits  her  here 

to-day. 
Their  journey  hath  endured  for  thrice  ten 

days.  .  .  . 
He  cannot   see   us  ...  shout,   that   he 

may  know.  .  .  , 

{All  together. 
Back!     Back!  .  .  .  Advance    no   nearer! 

Never  go 
Up  to  the  castle !  ...  It  is  death,  death, 

death  ! 

{Isolated  voices. 
She  does  not  understand.   ...  I  hear  they 

say 

No  less  than  twenty  men  pursued  her  way, 
y  97 


Ardiane  and  Barbc  Bleue 

That  dwelt  about    her  home.  .  .  .  You 

wonder  why  ? 
Because  they  loved  her.  .  .  .   Many  used 

to  cry 
Along  the  roads.  .  .  .  Why  has  she  come, 

O  why  ? 
They  tell    me   that    she  knew.  .  .  .  He 

shall   not  have  her,  no  ! 
She  is  too  fair  for  you  !  ...  He  shall  not 

have  her,  no  !  ... 

0  see  them,  see  them,  there  they  go ! 
Where   are    they  going  ?  .  .  .  They   are 

coming  through, 
By  the  red  gate.   .   .   .   It  is  not  true  .  .  . 

1  see  their  torches  in  the  avenue  ! 
There  the  great  chariot  goes  between  the 

trees  ! 
He  is  afraid.  .  .  .  He  shall  not  have  her, 

no ! 
He  is  mad,  mad,  mad  !     He  is  mad  !     He 

has  done  enough ! 
It  is  too  much  !  ...   So  she  will  be  the 

sixth !  9s 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

O  murderer,  butcher !   .  .   .   Death  to  the 

butcher,  death  ! 
Fire,  fire  !   .   .  .   Bring  fire !  .  .  .   I   have 

brought  my  hay-fork,  see  ! 
And  I  my  scythe! — They  are  entering 

the  yard  .  .  . 
Hey,  let  me  see !  .  .  .  Take  care !  .  .  . 

The  gates  are  barred ! 
Wait  for  them  here.  .  .  .  They  say  she 

knows  it  all ! 
What  does  she  know  ?  .  .  .  She   knowi 

what  I  know  too.   .   .   . 
What  do  you  know  ?   .   .   .   I  know  they 

all  are  dead  ! 
Not  dead,  not  dead?   ...  I  buried  them 

myself! 

But  I  one  evening  once  as  I  went  by 
Heard  singing  voices.   .  .   .  So  did  I.  .  .   . 

And  I  ... 

Ay,  they  come  back,  they  say.  .  .  .  But  he 
Brings  down  misfortune  on  our  heads.  .  .  . 

O  see, 

99 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

The  windows !  .  .  .  They  are  closing  of 

themselves ! 
Now  .  .  .  they  are  going  in  !     They  are 

going  in.  ... 

Nothing    to    see  !  .  .  .  Death    to    him ! 
Death  !     Death  !     Death  ! 
[And  at  this  moment  the  six  great  win- 
dows  above    the  interior    balcony 
close  of  their  own  motion,  stifling 
little    by    little  the  voices    of  the 
crowd.      Soon    nothing    is    heard 
but  an   indefinite  murmur  which 
is  almost  silence.     Shortly  after- 
wards ARDIANE  and  the  NURSB 
enter  by  a  side  door. 

THE  NURSE. 

Where  are  we  ?  ...   Listen  !  .  .  .  Ah  ! 

.   .   .  that  muttering  there  ! 
It  is  the  peasants :  they  were  eager,  yes, 
To  save  us  :  yes,  they  ran  along  the  roads, 
zoo 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

But  never  dared  to  speak :  they  made  us 

signs, 
They  made  us  signs  that  meant  we  should 

return.  .  .  . 

[She  goes  forward  to  the  great  door  at 

the  end  of  the  hall. 
They  are  here,  behind  this  door !  .  .  .  I 

hear  them :  some 
Tramp  to  and  fro.  .  .  .  Now  let  us  try 

to  flee.  .  .  . 

He  leaves  us  here  alone  :  we  can  escape, 
Perhaps.  ...  I    tell    you    plainly,  he  is 

mad ! 

O,  it  is  death  !     For  all  they  say  is  true, 
He  has  killed  five  women.  .  .  . 

ARDIANE. 

No,  they  are  not  dead  .  .  . 
Yonder  I  heard  it  spoken  of  at  times, 
In  the  far  place  whereto  his  savage  love, 
That  yet  was  tremulous,  came  to  seek  me 
out, 

101 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

A«  of  a  thing  incomprehensible. 
I  was  suspicious  of  the  truth,  and  here 
Am  sure.     He  loves  me  :  I  am  beautiful : 
So  shall  I  learn  his  secret.     But  ere  all 
We   must  be  insubordinate.     When    the 

future 

Is  threatening  to  us  and  inscrutable 
That  is  ere  all  our  duty.     For  the  rest, 
They  were  mistaken  ;  and  if  they  are  lost 
They  were  lost  by  hesitation. 

Here  are  we, 

Within  the  outer  hall  whence  opens  out 
The  chamber  where  his  love  awaits  me. 

Here 

Are  keys  he  gave  me  of  the  treasure-chests 
Of  bridal  raiment,  and  the  silver  keys 
Are  ours  to  use :  the  golden  is  forbid. 
That  is  the  only  one  of  import.     These, 
The  six,  I  cast  away  :  the  last  I  keep. 

\jShe  throws  away  the  keys  of  silver, 
which  tinkle  and  ring  on  the  marble 
fags. 

1 02 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

THE  NURSE  (who  hastily  picks  them  up 
,  again). 

What  are  you  doing?     He  has  given  you 
The  treasures,  all  the  treasures  that  they 
open ! 

ARDIANE. 

Open    them    you,    then,    if  it    give    you 

pleasure ; 

For  me,  I  seek  for  the  forbidden  door. 
Open  the  others  if  you  will ;  but  all 
That  is  permitted  us  will  tell  us  nought. 

THE  NURSE  (looking  at  the  keys  and  then 
about  the  hall). 

The    doors    are    yonder,    set   within    the 

marble, 
And  we  may  know,  since  all  have  locks 

of  silver, 

They  answer  to  the  keys :   but  first  of  all, 
Which  one  shall  I  unclose  ? 
103 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

ARDIANE. 

What  matter  which  ? 
They   are    but   there    to   turn   aside    our 

minds 
From  that  we  need  to  know.  ...  I  do 

not  find, 
Although    I    seek    for    it,    the    seventh 

door.  .  .  . 

THE  NURSE  (trying  the  lock  of  the  first 
door). 

Is   this    the    key    of  the    first?  ...  Or 
this  ?  ...   Or  this  ? 

Not  yet,  not  yet.  .  .   .  Ay,  but  the  third 
goes  in, 

Dragging    my  fingers  after  it !  ...  Be- 
ware !  .  .  . 

Fly  !  .  .  .  The     two    panels    both    have 
come  to  life ! 

They  are  gliding  back  like  curtains  !  .  .  . 
What  is  this  ? 

104 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

Beware,  beware  !   .  .  .   It  is  a  hail  of  fire, 
That  beats  upon  my  hands,  that  wounds 

my  face  ! 
O! 

[The  Nu  RSE  springs  backward, for  while 
she  is  speaking  the  two  leaves  of 
the  door  glide  of  their  own  motion 
into  lateral  recesses,  and  suddenly 
disappear,  disclosing  a  vast  heap 
of  amethysts  piled  up  to  the  top  of 
the  doorway.  Then,  as  though 
delivered  suddenly  from  centuries 
of  constraint,  countless  gems  and 
jewels  of  every  size  and  form, 
but  all  of  the  one  substance,  ame- 
thyst —  necklaces,  bracelets,  rings, 
aigrettes,  buckles,  girdles,  collars, 
diadems — fall  like  a  crumbling 
mass  of  violet  flames,  and  rebound 
as  far  as  the  further  side  of  the 
ball ;  and,  while  the  first  to  fall 
spread  themselves  over  the  marble 
105 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

flags,  others,  more  and  more  numer- 
ous and  more  and  more  resplen- 
dent, begin  to  fall  from  all  the 
mouldings  of  the  enchanted  vault- 
*  ings,  and  flow  therefrom  continu- 
ally with  an  incessant  sound  of 
living  jewels. 


THE  NURSE  (fascinated,  bewildered,  gather- 
ing up  jewels  with  both  her  hands'). 

Gather  them  up,  O  stoop,  gather  them  up  ! 
Take  the  most  beautiful !  Enough  are  here 
To  glorify  a  kingdom  !     Still  they  fall  ! 
They  pierce  my  hair,  they  stone  my  hands  ! 

O  look ! 
Unheard-of  gems   are    raining    from   the 

vaults, 

Miraculous  violets,  purple,  lilac,  mauve  ! 
Plunge  your  arms  into  them  and  hide  your 

face, 

And  I  will  fill  my  mantle  full  with  them ! 
1 06 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

ARDIANE. 

These  amethysts  are  noble.     Open  now 
The  second  door. 

THE  NURSE. 

The  second  ?     I  dare  not !  .  .  . 
Yet  I  would  know  if  ... 

\JShe  inserts  the  key  in  the  lock  of  the 
second  door. 

O,  beware,  beware! 
The  key  already  turns  !     And  they  have 

wings, 
The  doors :  the  walls  too  tear  themselves 

asunder ! 
O! 

scene  is  the  same  as  on  the  open- 
ing of  the  first  door,  but  this  time 
is  seen  the  accumulated  wealth, 
the  rebounding  irruption,  the  daz- 
zling aud  musical  fall  of  a  blue 
rain  of  sapphires. 
107 


Ardianc  and  Barbe  ,Blcue 

ARDIANE. 

These  are  fine  sapphires.     Open  now  the 
third. 

THE  NURSE. 

Wait,  wait  until  I  see  that  I  have  here 
Indeed  the  most  magnificent.      My  cloak 
Will  break  beneath  the  weight  of  blue,  blue 

sky  ! 

O  see  them  overflow  !  on  every  hand 
They  pour,  pour,  pour  !  —  a  violent  tor- 
rent here, 
And  yonder  in  a  stream  of  azure  blue ! 

ARDIANE. 

Come,  come,  Nurse,  quickly,  for  the  chance 

to  sin 
Is  rare  and  fugitive.  .  .  . 

THE  NURSE  (opens  the  third  door,  when  the 
same  thing  befalls,  save  that  this  time 
follows   the  pale   invasion,   the   milky 
1 08 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

rushy  of  a  deluge  of  pearls,  a  shower 
less  heavy,  but  more  illimitable  than 
those  preceding). 

I  will  but  take 

A  handful  of  them,  so  they  may  caress 
The  sapphires. 

ARDIANE. 
Open  now  the  fourth  door. 

THE  NURSE  (opens  the  fourth  door,  when  as 
before  there  is  a  shower  of  jewels,  but 
this  time  of  emeralds). 

O,  these  are  greener  than  the  Spring  that 

runs 

Along  the  poplars  thick  with  drops  of  dew 

That  catch  the  lovely  sunlight  in  my  home ! 

[Shaking  her  mantle,  which  overflows 

with    amethysts,    sapphires,    and 

pearls. 

Away,  away,  ye  others  !  give  you  place 
For  the  most  beautiful  —  for  I  was  born 
109 


Ardianc  and  Barbe  Bleue 

Under  the  boughs,  and  love  the  light  of 
leaves. 

ARDIANE. 
Open  the  fifth  door. 

THE  NURSE. 

O,  not  even  these  ? 
You  do  not  love  them  ? 

ARDIANE. 

What  I  love  is  fair 
Beyond  all  fairness  of  miraculous  gems. 

THE  NURSE  (opening  the  fifth  door,  to  set 
free  a  blinding  irruption,  a  living  incan- 
descence',  a  sinister  deluge  and  cascade  of 
rubies). 

O,  these  are  terrible  :  I  will  not  touch  ! 

ARDIANE. 

Now  we  approach  the  end  :  the  threat  lies 

here. 
Open  the  sixth. 

no 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

THE  NURSE. 
It  is  the  last  key. 

ARDIANE. 

Open  it  quickly. 

e  NURSE,  hesitating,  opens  the  sixth 
door.  All  passes  as  before  :  but 
the  radiance  is  this  time  intolerable. 
Cataracts  of  enormous  diamonds  of 
the  first  water  four  into  the  hall; 
myriads  of  sparks,  flashes,  flecks 
of  fire,  and  prismatic  rays  mingle, 
are  extinguished,  blaze  forth  again 
and  multiply,  outspreading  as  they 
fall.  ARDIANE,  startled,  gives  a 
dazed  cry.  She  stoops,  picks  up  a 
diadem,  a  necklace,  and  handfuls 
of  the  glistening  splendour,  and 
therewith  she  decks  at  random  her 
hair,  her  arms,  her  throat,  her 
hands.  Then,  flashing  before  her 


Ardiane  and  Barbc  Bleue 

eyes  and  raising  before  her  face 
diamonds  that  shed  a  brilliance 
upon  her. 

O,  my  flashing  diamonds ! 
For  you  I  never  sought,  but  on  my  way 
I  greet  you  !     O  immortal  dew  of  light ! 
Stream  o'er  my  hands,  illuminate  my  arms, 
Dazzle  my  very  flesh  !     O,  you  are  pure, 
And  you  are  tireless,  and  you  never  die  : 
And  that  which  in  your  fires  eternally 
Trembles,  like  to  a  populace  of  spirits, 
That  have  constrained  and  wear  the  stars 

of  Heaven, 

It  is  the  passion  of  that  Radiance 
Which,  penetrating  all  things,  knows  no 

rest, 

And  finds  no  more  to  conquer,  save  itself! 
[She  approaches  the  door,  and  looks  up 

at  the  vaulted  arch. 
Rain   on,   O   supreme   heart  of  summer, 

rain! 
O  shards  of  light,  O  limitless  soul  of  flame! 

112 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

Yea,  wound  my  eyes,  yet  shall  you  never 
tire 

Those  eyes  of  gazing  ! 

[Leaning  yet  further  back. 
O,  what  is  it  there  ? 

O  Nurse,  where  are  you  ?     For  the  splen- 
did rain 

Hangs  motionless,  suspended  in  a  bow, 

A  diamond  rainbow  of  prismatic  fire  !  .   .   , 

O  see  the  seventh  door,  with  golden  bars, 

With  golden  lock  and  hinges  ! 

THE  NURSE. 

Come  away ! 
No,  never  touch  it !     No,  withdraw  your 

hands ! 
Withdraw     your    eyes,   lest    of    itself    it 

open! 
Come,  let  us  hide  !     These  diamonds  - — 

after  them 

Or  fire  will  come,  or  death  ! 
1  113 


Ardianc  and  Barbe  Blcuc 

ARDIANE. 

Go  back,  go  back  ! 

Hide  you  yourself  behind  a  marble  shaft: 

I  will  alone  go  forward. 

[She  steps  into  the  recess  under  the 
vaulted  doorway ,  and  inserts  the 
key  in  the  lock.  'The  door  divides 
into  two  panels,  and  disappears: 
nothing  is  visible  save  an  opening 
full  of  darkness :  but  the  sound  of 
singing,  muffled  and  remote,  rises 
from  the  depths  of  the  earth,  and 
spreads  through  the  hall. 

THE  NURSE. 

Ardiane  ! 
What  are  you  doing  ?    Is  it  you  that  sings ? 

ARDIANE. 

Listen ! 

114 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleu* 

THE  DISTANT  VOICES. 

Orlamonde's  five  daughters, 

When  the  faery  died, 
Orlamonde's  five  daughters 

Sought  to  win  outside. 

THE  NURSE. 
They  are  .  .  .  the  other  women  ! 

ARDIANE. 

Yes. 

THE  NURSE. 

O,  shut  the  door  !     Their  singing  fills  the 

hall: 
It  will  be  heard,  heard  everywhere ! 

ARDIANE  (trying  to  close  the  door). 

I  cannot ! 
"5 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Blcue 

THE  DISTANT  VOICES. 

They  lit  their  five  lanterns, 

Through  all  the  towers  they  sought, 
And  in  four  hundred  chambers ; 

The  day,  they  found  it  not. 

THE  NURSE. 

Now  it  is  louder,  always  louder  !     Come  ! 
Come,  let  us  close  —  help  me  —  the  outer 

door.  .  .  . 

\¥hey  try  to  close  the  door  that  concealed 

the  diamonds. 
This  too  resists !    We  cannot  shut  them  in ! 

THE  DISTANT  VOICES. 

Then  they  found  an  echoing  deep, 

And  let  it  them  enfold  : 
And  upon  a  stubborn  door 

Found  a  key  of  gold. 
116 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleuc 

THE  NURSE  (bewildered,  and  also  entering 
the  recess). 

Be  silent,  silent !  .  .  .  We  shall  all  be  lost ! 
Stifle  that  voice  !  [Stretching  out  her  mantle. 

The  doorway  —  ah,  my  cloak 
Will  cover  it.  ... 

ARDIANE. 

I  see  beyond  the  sill 

Steps.     I  am  going  down  to  where  they 
sing. 

THE  DISTANT  VOICES  (always  louder). 

Through  the  chinks  they  see  the  ocean  : 

Ah,  they  fear  to  die  ! 

They  strike  the  door  they  dare  not  open, 
And  the  hours  go  by. 

\_At  the  last  words  of  the  song  BARBE 

BLEUE    enters   the   hall.     For   a 

moment   he  stops   short  ^  gazing ; 

then  he  draws  near  to  the  women. 

117 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

BARBE  BLEUE. 
You  too ! 

ARDIANE  (who  starts,  leaves  the  door  w  ay  ^ 
and  advances ,  glittering  with  diamonds, 
towards  BARBE  BLEUE). 

I  above  all. 

BARBE  BLEUE. 

I  thought  that  you 

Were  stronger,  wiser  than  your  sisters 
were. 

ARDIANE. 
How  long  did  they  avoid  the  thing  forbid  ? 

BARBE  BLEUE. 

This,  for  some  days  ;  that,  a  few  months ; 

and  one, 

The  last  of  all,  a  year. 
xz3 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

ARDIANE. 

It  was  the  last, 

Only  the    last,  that    there   was   need    to 
punish. 

BARBE  BLEUE. 
It  was  a  very  little  thing  to  ask. 

ARDIANE. 

You  asked  of  these  more  than  you  ever 
gave. 

BARBE  BLEUE. 
The  happiness  I  willed  for  you  you  lose. 

ARDIANE. 

The    happiness    I    would    lives    not    in 

darkness. 
When  I  know  all  to  pardon  will  be  mine. 

BARBE  BLEUE  (seizing  ARDIANE  by  the  arm). 

Come !     Come ! 

119 


Ardianc  and  Barbe  Bleuc 

ARDIANE. 
Where  would  you,  then,  that  I  should  go  ? 

BARBE  BLEUE. 
Where  I  shall  lead  you. 

ARDIANE. 
No. 

[BARBE  BLEUE  strives  to  drag  her 
away  by  force.  She  gives  a  long 
cry  of  pain.  'This  cry  is  answered 
at  first  by  a  low  murmur  from 
without.  'The  struggle  between 
the  two  continues  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  the  NURSE  gives  vent 
to  despairing  outcries.  Suddenly  a 
stone,  hurled  from  without,  shat- 
ters one  of  the  windows,  and  the 
crowd  is  heard,  excited  and  en- 
raged. Other  stones  fall ;  the 
NURSE,  running  to  the  great  door 
at  the  end  of  the  hallt  raises 


I  20 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

the  bars  and  shoots  the  bolts. 
A  sudden  rush  from  outside 
splinters  the  door  and  forces  it 
in  ;  and  the  peasants,  infuriated 
but  hesitating^  crowd  upon  the 
threshold.  BARBE  BLEUE,  releas- 
ing ARDIANE,  draws  his  sword 
and  prepares  for  the  onset.  But 
ARDIANE,  tranquil,  advances 
towards  the  crowd. 

ARDIANE. 

What  would  you  ?     He  has  not  done  me 
any  ill. 

[She  gently  disperses  the  peasants,  and 
carefully  closes  the  door,  while 
BARBE  BLEUE,  with  lowered  eyes, 
gazes  at  the  point  of  his  sword. 


CURTAIN. 


Ill 


ACT   THE   SECOND 

At  the  rising  of  the  curtain  the  scene  is  a 
vast  subterranean  ball,  with  a  vaulted 
roof  supported  by  many  columns ;  it  is 
plunged  in  almost  total  darkness.  From 
the  extreme  right ,  almost  in  the  wings, 
there  runs  back  a  narrow,  winding  sub- 
terranean passage,  also  with  a  vaulted 
roof;  it  debouches  into  the  great  hall 
towards  the  front  of  the  stage  by  a 
roughly-arched  opening. 

At  the  further  end  of  this  passage  ARDIANE 
and  the  NURSE  are  seen,  descending  the 
last  few  steps  of  a  stairway ;  ARDIANE 
carries  a  lamp. 

THE  NURSE. 

Hush  !     Do  you  hear  ?      He  shuts  the 
iron  door. 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

Over  our  heads  !     Why  would  you  not 

give  way  ? 
We  never  shall  behold  the  day  again. 


ARDIANE. 

Fear  not ;  he  is  wounded,  he  is  overcome ; 
But  knows  it  not  as  yet.     With  supplica- 
tion 

He  will  re-open  it :  but  let  us  seek 
First  if  we  cannot  of  ourselves  win  free. 
Meanwhile  his   wrath    all    that   his    love 

refused 

Has  granted :  we  shall  find  what  here  is 
hid. 

[She  advances ,  holding  the  lamp  high 
above  her  head,  to  the  mouth  of 
the  passage,  and  there  bends  for^ 
ward,  seeking  to  penetrate  the 
darkness  of  the  hall.  At  the  first 
ray  of  light  which  pierces  the  ob- 
scurity is  heard  the  sound  of  husked 
123 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

and  fearful  flight.   ARDIANE  turns 
towards  the  NURSE  to  call  her. 

ARDIANE. 

Come  !     They  are  here  ! 

\_Sbe  enters  the  ball,  which  the  lamp 
illuminates  pillar  by  pillar. 

Where  are  you  ? 

\_A  terrified  moan  replies.  ARDIANE 
directs  the  rays  of  her  lamp  toward 
the  part  from  which  it  seems  to 
proceedy  and  perceives  the  forms 
of  five  women,  motionless  with 
fright,  who  are  huddled  together 
in  the  shadows  of  the  remotest 
pillars. 

ARDIANE  (in  a  muffled  voice,  still  half  fearful). 

They  are  there  ! 
Nurse,  nurse,  where  are  you  ? 

\_The  NURSE  hastens  toward  ARDIANE  : 
ARDIANE  gives  her  the  lamp,  and 
124 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

takes  a  few  hesitating  steps  toward 
the  five. 

Sisters,  O  my  sisters ! 
\_Thefive  start. 

They    live  !      They    live  !      They    live  ! 
Behold  me  here  ! 

[She  runs  to  them  with  open  arms,  clasps 
them  with  hesitating  hands ,  strains 
them  to  her  breast,  and  kisses  them 
and  caresses  them,  feeling  about 
her  with  uncertain  gestures,  in  a 
kind  of  impassioned  and  convulsive 
tenderness,  while  the  NURSE,  lamp 
in  hand,  stands  still  a  little  apart. 

ARDIANE. 

O,  I  have  found  you  !  .  .  .  They  are  full 

of  life, 
They  are  full  of  sweetness !   .  .   .  When  I 

saw  the  hall 

Open  in  darkness  from  the  passage  end, 
125 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleuc 

I  thought  to  find  ...  ah  me !  .  .  .  dead 

bodies  here.  .  .  . 
And  lo  .  .  .  I  kiss  these  loveliest  lips  in 

tears ! 
Have  you   not  suffered  ?     O,   your  lips 

how  fresh, 
Your   cheeks    how    like    the    cheeks    of 

children !     See, 
Your    naked    arms    are   supple,    ay,   and 

warm ; 
Your  round  round  breasts  are  throbbing 

through  their  veils  ! 
Why  do  you  tremble  ?  .   .   .  O,  how  many 

you  are ! 
Now   I    clasp   shoulders ;  now  my   arms 

entwine 
Hips,  and  my  touch   on  whom   I   know 

not  rests.  .  .  . 
On   every   hand   my  lips   meet  lips,   my 

breast  meets  breasts. 
O  this  that  bathes  you  all,  this  hair ! 
You  must  be  fair,  so  fair ! 
126 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

Waves,  faintly  warm,  are  parted  by  my 

hands, 
My     arms     are     lost     amid     rebellious 

strands.  .  .  . 
Have  you  a  thousand  tresses  ?  .  .  .  and 

are  they 

Like  night,  or  like  the  day  ? 
I  see  no  longer  what  I  do, 
But  I  am  kissing,  kissing  all  of  you, 
And  one  by  one  I  gather  all  your  hands  ! 
It  is  the  least  of  you  I  find  the  last : 
O  never  tremble  !     See,  I  hold  you  fast, 
My  arms  enfold  you  close  to  me ! 
Nurse,  nurse,  what  are  you  doing  there  ? 
Behold  me  like  a  mother  here, 
Feeling  in  darkness,  and  my  children  .  .  . 

they 
Await  the  dawn  to  clear. 

\_Tbe  NURSE  draws  near,  bearing  the 

lamp,  and   its   light  falls  on    the 

group  of  women.      The   captives 

are  then  seen  to  be  clad  in  rags, 

127 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Blcue 

their  hair  in  disorder,  their  faces 
emaciated  and  their  eyes  dazzled 
and  alarmed.  ARDIANE,  for  a. 
moment  astonished,  takes  the  lamp 
from  the  NURSE,  in  order  the 
better  to  light  them,  and  to  re- 
gard them  more  closely. 

ARDIANE. 

O,  you  have  suffered  here  ! 

And  O,  how  gloomy  does   your   prison 

seem ! 
Great   clammy  drops    are  falling  on  my 

hands, 
And  my  lamp's  flame  is  flickering  all  the 

while ! 
How  strange  your  eyes  are  when  you  look 

at  me ! 
And  you  draw  back  as  I  approach  —  but 

why  ? 

What,  are  you  still  afraid  ? 
And  who  is  that  who  seeks  to  flv  ? 
izS 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

Is  it  not  she,  the  youngest  of  you  all, 

She  that  I  kissed  but  now  ? 

O,  has  my  long  long  sister's  kiss 

Done  to  you  any  harm  ? 

Come  to  me,  come  then  !     Do  you  fear 

the  light  ? 
Tell  me,  what  is  her  name  ? 

Two  OR  THREE  TIMID  VOICES. 
Selysette. 

ARDIANE. 

Selysette  —  a  smile  ? 

It  is  the  first  that  I  have  seen  this  while ! 
Your  wide  eyes  falter  as  though  they  saw 

the  Dead, 
Although    in    truth    they    look    on    life 

instead  : 
And    O,    these    delicate    bare    arms    that 

tremble, 
Both   waiting   to   be   loved !     Come,   my 

arms  too 
9  129 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

Arc  waiting,  though  I  tremble  not  as  you  ! 

{Embracing  her. 

You  have  been  in  this  tomb  how  many 
days? 

SELYSETTE. 

We  count  the  days  but  ill  here,  oftentimes 
Deceive    ourselves,  but    none   the  less  I 

think 
I  have  been  here  for  upwards  of  a  year. 

[YGRAINE  advances :  she  is  paler  than 
the  others. 

ARDIANE. 
It  is  a  long  while  since  you  saw  the  light ! 

YGRAINE. 

I  used  not  to  unclose  my  eyes ;   I  wept 
So  long  alone. 

SELYSETTE  (looking  fixedly  at  ARDIANE). 

How  beautiful  you  are  ! 
How  could  he  bring  himself  to  punish  you 
130 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

As  he  used  us  ?     You  also  in  the  end 
Have  disobeyed  him  ? 

ARDIANE. 

No,  it  was  not  so ! 

No,  I  obeyed  more  swiftly  than  the  rest, 
But  other  laws  than  his. 

SELYSETTE. 

Why  have  you  come  ? 
O  why  have  you  come  here  ? 

ARDIANE. 

To  set  you  free. 

SELYSETTE. 
How  should  we  be  set  free  ? 

ARDIANE. 

But  follow  me : 

No  more  than  that.  .  .  .  What  used  you 
here  to  do  ? 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

SELYSETTE. 

We  prayed,  sang,  wept,  and  then  we  waited 
always. 

ARDIANE. 
You  never  sought  escape  ? 

SELYSETTE. 

We  could  not  flee, 
For  all  the  ways  are  shut,  and  flight  forbid. 

ARDIANE. 

That  we  shall  see.  .  .  .  But  she  that  looks 

at  me 

Between  the  tangles  of  her  fallen  hair 
That  seems  to  wrap  her  round  in  frozen 

flame  — 
What  is  her  name  ? 

SELYSETTE. 

Her  name  is  Melisande. 
132 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

ARDIANE. 

Come  hither,  Melisande  !    And  she  whose 

eyes, 
Wide,  eager  eyes,  are  following  my  lamp  ? 

SELYSETTE. 
Bellangere. 

ARDIANE. 

And  that  other,  who  is  hid 
Behind  the  heavy  pillar? 

SELYSETTE. 

She  has  come 
From  very  far  away,  poor  Alladine  ! 

ARDIANE. 
Why  do  you  call  her  poor  ? 

SELYSETTE. 

Because  she  came 
Last  of  us  all,  and  speaks  another  tongue. 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

ARDiANE(^0/*#»£  out  herarmsto  ALLADINE). 

Come,  Alladine  !   .  .  .  You    see   that  I 

speak  hers, 
When  I  embrace  her  thus. 

SELYSETTE. 

She  has  not  yet 
Ever  ceased  weeping. 

ARDIANE    (looking  at  SELYSETTE  and  the 
others  with  astonishment]. 

Why,  but  you  yourself, 
Can  you  not  laugh  yet  —  laugh  and  clap 

your  hands  ? 

And  all  the  rest  are  silent !    What  is  this? 
What  are  you  ?   Will  you  live  in  terror  thus 
Always  ?     I  do  not  see  you  smile  at  all, 
While  with  your  eyes  —  incredulous  eyes  ! 

—  you  watch 

My  every  gesture.     Will  you  not  believe 

The  joyful  news  ?     O,  do  you  not  regret 

J34 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

The  light  of  day,  the  birds  among  the 

boughs, 

The  high  green  gardens  blowing  overhead  ? 
Do   you   not  know  the  world  is  in  the 

Spring  ? 

I  y ester-morning,  wandering  by  the  way, 
Drank  in  the  light,  the  sense  of  space  of 

dawn, 

So  many  flowers  beneath  my  every  step, 
I  knew  not  where  to  set  my  careless  feet ! 
Have  you  forgot  the  sunlight  and  the  dew, 
Dew  in  the  leaves,  and  laughter  of  the  sea? 
The  sea  but  now  was  laughing  as  it  laughs 
On  days  whereon  it  knows  the  wind  of  joy, 
And  all  its  thousand  ripples  approved  my 

feet, 
Its  ripples  singing  on  the  sands  of  light.  .  . . 

\_At  this  moment  one  of  the  drops  of 
water  which  drip  incessantly  from 
the  roof  falls  upon  the  flame  of  the 
lamp  which  ARDIANE  holds  be- 
fore her,  as  she  turns  towards  the 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleuc 

mouth  of  the  subterranean  passage, 
and  the  light  flickers  and  is  extin- 
guished. The  NURSE  gives  a  cry 
of  terror,  and  ARDIANE  stops, 
dismayed. 

ARDIANE  (in  the  darkness}. 
O,  but  where  are  you  ? 

SELYSETTE. 

Hither  :  take  my  hand. 
Stay  by  me  :  water,  stagnant  and  profound, 
Lies  yonder. 

ARDIANE. 
What,  and  you  can  see  it  still  ? 

SELYSETTE. 
Yes,  we  have  lived  so  long  in  darkness  here. 

BELLANGERE. 

Come  hither :  it  is  lighter  here  by  far. 
136 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

SELYSETTE. 
Yes,  let  us  all  go  thither  to  the  light. 

ARDIANE. 

Then    is  there  in   this   deepest  darkness 
light? 

SELYSETTE. 

Yes,  there  is  light.    Do  you  not  see  it  there, 
A  wide,  pale  glow  illumining  the  depth 
Beyond  the  further  arches  ? 

ARDIANE. 

Where  ? 

SELYSETTE. 

O  blind ! 
O,  let  me  kiss  you.  .   .  . 

ARDIANE. 

Yes,  there  is  indeed 
A  faint  light,  growing  wider.   .   .   . 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

SELYSETTE. 

O  no,  no ! 

It  is  your  eyes,  your  lovely  astonished  eyes 
That  widen  ! 

ARDIANE. 
O,  whence  is  it  ? 

MELISANDE. 

We  do  not  know. 

ARDIANE. 

But  we  must  know  ! 

[She  goes  toward  the  back  of  the  scene, 

and  moves  to  and  fro,  feeling  along 

the  wall  with  her  hands. 

Here  is  the  wall  .  .  .  and  here  .  .  . 

But  higher  .  .  .  here  .  .  .  it  is  no  longer 

stone ! 

Help  me  to  mount  upon  this  mass  of  rock ! 
[She  climbs,  supported  by  the  others. 
Here  it  is  like  an  altar.     Here  the  roof 
'38 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

Is  moulded  in  a  pointed  arch.  .  .  .  And 

here  — 

O,  O,  enormous  bolts  and  iron  bars ! 
You  have  sought  to  push  them  ?     Have 

you  ? 

SELYSETTE, 

Never !     No ! 
No,  never  touch  them :  for  they  say  the 

sea 
Washes  the  walls — great  waves  will  tumble 

in! 
It  is  the  sea  that  makes  it  glimmer  green ! 

YGRAINE. 
We  have  so  often  heard  it :  have  a  care ! 

MELISANDE. 
O,  I  see  water  tremble  above  our  heads ! 

ARDIANE. 
No,  no,  it  is  the  light  that  seeks  you  out  I 

139 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

BELLANGERE. 

She  is  trying  to  force  it  open  ! 

\^he  terrified  women  recoil,  and  take 
refuge  behind  a  great  column, 
whence  they  follow  with  widened 
eyes  ARD JANE'S  every  movement. 

ARDIANE. 

My  poor  sisters  ! 
Why,  if  you  love  your  darkness,  do  you 

seek 

Deliverance  from  any  quarter  ?     Why, 
If  you  were  happy,  did  you  use  to  weep  ? 
O,  the  bars  rise  !     They  rise  !     And  now 

the  doors 
Are  going  to  open  !     Wait ! 

\_A nd  indeed  the  heavy  -panels  of  a  sort 
of  great  interior  shutter  are  seen, 
while  yet  she  is  speaking,  to  open, 
but  as  yet  only  a  very  faint,  dif- 
fused, and  sombre  light  illuminates 
140 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

the  round  aperture  perceived  under 
the  'vaulted  ceiling. 

ARDIANE  (continuing  her  search). 

No  light  as  yet, 

No  real  light !     But  now  I  pass 
My  hands  across.  .  .  .  What  is  it  ?    Glass  ? 
Or  maybe  marble.  .  .  .  One  would  say 
This  were  a  window,  sealed  away, 
Blackened  with  pitch.  .  .  .  My  nails  are 

broken !     Nay, 

Where  are  your  distaffs  ?     Melisande, 
Selysette,  give  me  in  my  hand 
A  distaff:  nay,  a  stone, 
A  single  pebble  of  the  thousands  strown 
Over  the  floor.  .  .  . 

[SELYSETTE  runs  to  ARDIANE,  holding 
up  to  her  a  stone,  which  she  takes. 

Behold  before  your  eyes 
The  key  of  your  sunrise  ! 

\She  strikes  a   violent  blow   upon  the 
glass.     One  of  the  square  panes  is 
141 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleuc 

shattered  into  fragments,  and  a 
great  dazzling  star  seems  to  burst 
forth  in  the  darkness.  The  women 
give  a  cry  of  almost  delighted 
terror,  and  ARDIANE,  now  be- 
side herself,  and  wholly  submerged 
in  a  more  and  more  intolerable 
radiance,  breaks  all  the  remaining 
panes  with  heavy,  hurried  blows, 
in  a  kind  of  ecstatic  delirium. 

Yet  another  pane ! 

Now,  and  now  again  ! 

Till  they  fall,  great  and  small,  shattered, 
down  to  the  last  of  all ! 

All  the  panes  in  ruin  crack, 

And  O  the  flames  are  driving  back 

My  hands,  my  hair  ! 

I  can  see  nothing  now  of  what  is  there ! 

Nor  do  I  longer  dare 

To  raise  my  lids,  for  now  it  seems 

They   are    mad    with    fury,   the    dazzling 
beams ! 

142 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

Stir  not  from  where  you  were  ! 
I  can  no  longer  stand  upright, 
But  shut  my  eyes  behold  the  sight 
Of  bright  long  strings  of  pearls,  my  eye- 
lids lashing  ! 
I    know    not    what    assails    me,    o'er    me 

dashing: 

Is  it  the  skies  or  else  the  seas, 
Is  it  the  light  or  else  the  breeze  ? 
All  my  tresses  bright  have  grown  a  torrent 

of  light, 

And  miracle  all  over  me  is  flashing  ! 
I  see  no  longer,  but  I  hear 
A  myriad  rays  of  light  beating  on  either 

ear ! 

But  how  to  hide  my  eyes  I  do  not  know, 
For  no  shade  now  my  two  hands  throw ; 
My  eyelids  dazzle  me ;  my  arms,  that  try 
To  cover  them,  do  cover,  but  with  light ! 
Where  are  you  ?     Hither,  all  of  you  !  for  I 
Am    helpless   to    descend ;    I   cannot  see 
aright ; 

H3 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleuc 

1  see  not,  know  not,  where  to  press 

My  feet  amid  the  surf  of  fire  that  sway  my 
dress ! 

Come  hither,  hither  all,  or  I  shall  fall 

Into  your  darkness  ! 

[At  this  cry  SELYSETTE<Z#</  MELISANDE 
leave  the  shadows  wherein  they  had 
taken  refuge,  and  run  to  the  win- 
dow, their  hands  pressed  upon 
their  eyes,  as  though  to  pass 
through  flame ;  and  thus,  groping 
in  the  light,  they  mount  beside 
ARDIANE  on  the  mass  of  rock. 
'The  others  follow  them,  and  do 
as  they ;  and  thus  all  crowd  to- 
gether in  the  stream  of  blinding 
radiance,  which  forces  them  to 
lower  their  heads.  'Then  passes 
a  moment  of  dazzled  silence,  dur- 
ing which  is  heard  the  murmur  of 
the  sea  without,  the  caress  of  the 
wind  among  grasses,  the  song  of 
144 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

birds,  and  the  bells  of  a  flock  of 
sheep  going  by  in  a  distant  pasture. 

SELYSETTE. 

I  can  hear  the  sea ! 

MELISANDE. 
And  I  can  see  the  sky.  .  .  . 

Covering  her  eyes  with  the  bend  of  her 
arm. 

One  cannot  look  1 

ARDIANE. 

My  eyes  are  growing  calmer  'neath  my 

hands. 
Where  are  we  ? 

BELLANGERE. 

Trees  are  all  that  I  would  see. 
Where  are  they  ? 

YGRAINE. 

O,  but  how  the  world  is  green ! 
10  145 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Blcue 

ARDIANE. 
We  are  midway  upon  the  cliff-side  here. 

MELISANDE. 

Down  there  —  the  village!     Do  you  sec 
the  village  ? 

BELLANGERE. 

We  cannot  reach  the  village :  all  around 
Is  water,  and  the  bridges  all  up-drawn. 

SELYSETTE. 
Where  are  there  people  ? 

MELISANDE. 

There  is  a  peasant  there  — 
Yonder. 

SELYSETTE. 

He  saw  —  is  looking  at  us  now. 
See,  I  will  make  a  sign  to  him.  .  .  . 

[She  waves  her  long  hair. 

He  saw ! 
146 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

He  saw  my  hair,  he  takes  his  bonnet  off! 
He  makes  the  sign  of  the  Cross  ! 

MELISANDE. 

A  bell,  a  bell !    [Counting  the  strokes, 
Seven,  eight,  nine ! 

BELLANGERE. 
Ten  .  .  .  and  eleven  .  .  .  twelve ! 

MELISANDE. 
So  it  is  noon.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 
Who  is  it  singing  so  ? 

MELISANDE. 

Why,  those  are  birds  !     Do  you  see  them  ? 

There  they  are ! 
There  are  thousands  in  the  lofty  poplar 

trees 
That  grow  along  the  river. 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

SELYSETTE. 

Alladine ! 

Where  is  she,  O  where  is  she,  Alladine  ? 
For  I  would  kiss  her. 

MELISANDE. 

i    Alladine  is  here, 
And  I,  I  kiss  her. 

SELYSETTE. 

You  —  O  Melisande, 
You  are  so  pale  ! 

MELISANDE. 

You  also,  you  are  pale ! 
No,  do  not  look  at  me ! 

SELYSETTE. 

And  see,  your  dress 

Is  all  in  tatters :   I  can  see  you  through 
it.  ... 

148 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

MELISANDE. 

And   yours  ;    for  your  uncovered   breasts 

appear, 
Parting   your    tresses.  .   .  .   Do   not  look 

at  me. 

BELLANGERE. 
How  long  our  tresses  are ! 

YGRAINE. 

How  pale  our  checks  ! 

BELLANGERE. 
The  sun  shines  through  our  hands.  .  .  . 

MELISANDE. 

O,  Alladine  ! 
She  is  sobbing  ! 

SELYSETTE. 

I  am  kissing,  kissing  her.  .  .  . 
149 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

ARDIANE. 

Ah  yes,  kiss  one  another :  do  not  yet 
Look  in  each   other's  faces :    more  than 

all 
You  shall  not  think  that  light  will  make 

you  sad. 

You  shall  by  your  intoxication  profit 
To  issue  from  the  tomb.     Here  steps  of 

stone 
Descend  the  cliff-side.     Though  I  do  not 

know 
Whither  they  lead,  yet  they  are  full  of 

light, 
And  the  free  winds  of  heaven  assail  them. 

Come  ! 
Follow    me    all !     A    thousand    thousand 

rays 
Are  dancing,  dancing  on  the  crests  of  the 

sea ! 

[She  goes  out  through  the  opening  and 
disappears  in  the  light  without. 
150 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

SELYSETTE  (who  follows,  drawing  the  others 
after  her}. 

Come,  yes,  O  come,  my  poor,  my  happy 

sisters  ! 

Let  us  too  dance,  dance,  dance  the  dance 
of  the  light  ! 

[  They  all  climb  the  great  stone  and  dis- 
appear^ singing  in  the  brilliance 
of  outer  day. 

THE  RECEDING  VOICES. 

Orlamonde's  five  daughters 

(The  faery's  days  were  o'er), 
Orlamonde's  five  daughters 
Found  at  last  the  door. 


CURTAIN. 


ACT   THE   THIRD 

The  curtain  rises  on  the  same  scene  as  in  the 
First  Act.  The  scattered  jewels  are 
still  glistening  in  the  niches ,  and  on  the 
marble  floor.  Between  the  -pillars  of 
the  semi-circular  colonnade  are  open 
coffers,  overflowing  with  costly  raiment. 
It  is  now  night  without,  and  under  the 
hanging  candelabra,  the  tapers  of  which 
are  lit,  ALLADINE,  SELYSETTE,  MELI- 
SANDE,  YGRAINE  and  BELLANGERE  are 
standing  before  the  great  mirrors,  and 
each  is  giving  the  touches  of  completion 
to  the  dressing  of  her  hair,  or  adjusting 
the  folds  of  her  glittering  attire,  or 
decking  herself  with  jewels  and  flowers, 
while  ARDIANE,  passing  from  one  to 
15* 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

the  other ,  assists  and  advises  them  all. 
The  great  windows  are  open. 

SELYSETTE. 

Though  from  the  spell-bound  castle  we  as 

yet 

Discover  no  escape,  yet  wherefore  fear, 
Since  he  is  here  no  longer? 

[Embracing  ARDIANE. 

We  are  happy, 
And  still,  because  you  tarry  with  us,  free. 

MELISANDE. 
Where  has  he  gone  ? 

ARDIANE. 

I  know  no  more  than  you. 
Yet  gone  he  has.    It  may  be  he  is  troubled : 
It  may  be  for  the  first  time  disconcerted. 
It  well  may  be  the  anger  of  the  peasants 
Left  him  uneasy  ;  he  has  felt  their  hate 
Brim  over :  who  shall  say  he  has  not  gone 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

To  search  out  guards  or  soldiers  to  chastise 
The  mutinous,  and  so  return  a  master  ? 

MELISANDE. 
You  will  not  go  away  ? 

ARDIANE. 

How  should  I  go, 
When  all  the  castle  moats  are  brimming 

full, 

When  all  the  drawbridges  are  hoisted  high, 
When  all  the  doors  and  gates  are  locked 

and  barred, 

When  all  the  walls  are  inaccessible  ? 
Though  none  are  seen  to  guard  them,  none 

the  less 

The  doors  are  not  abandoned ;  all  our  steps 
Are  closely  spied  ;  he  must  have  given  out 
Mysterious  orders.     But  on  every  side 
The  peasants  wait  and   watch   upon   the 

roads. 
Meanwhile,  my  sisters,  the  eventful  hour 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

Draws  nigh ;  we  must  be  very  beautiful. 

But  is  it  so  that  you  prepare  yourselves? 

Your  hair  was  full  of  miracle,  Melisande! 

Below,  it  lit  the  darkness  of  the  vaults, 

Steadfast  it  smiled  upon  the  night  of  the 
tomb, 

And    now   you  have  extinguished   every 
flame ! 

Again  I  come  to  liberate  the  light ! 

[She  removes  MELISANDE'S  veil,  cuts 
with  her  scissors  the  fillets  that 
constrain  her  tresses,  and  all  her 
hair  suddenly  flows  downwards^ 
streaming  resplendent  over  her 
shoulders. 

YGRAINE  (turning  about  to  look  at 

MELISANDE). 
O! 

SELYSETTE  (also  turning). 

I  can  hardly  think  it  still  is  she  ! 
She  is  so  beautiful ! 

155 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

ARDIANE. 

And  you,  and  you  ! 
Those    loveliest    arms,   where    are    they, 

Selysette  ? 
What  have  you  done  ? 

SELYSETTE. 

Within  my  silver  sleeves, 
Here  are  my  arms. 

ARDIANE. 

I  cannot  see  them,  no, 
Not  as  I  saw  them  but  a  while  ago, 
Saw  those  arms  I  worshipped  so, 
The  while  I  watched  you,  saw  you  dress, 
Every  strand  and  every  tress ; 
They  seemed  as  they  were  raised  above 
Your  head  to  reach,  to  appeal  for  love. 
My    loving    eyes    caressed    your    every 

gesture : 

I  turned  about,  and  when  I  turn  again 
156 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

I  see  their  shadow  merely  through  their 

vesture 
That  shone  but  now  so  bright.     But  now 

these  twain 
Twin  rays  of  happiness  I  liberate  ! 

[She  detaches  the  sleeves. 

SELYSETTE. 

My  poor  bare  arms  !     O,  they  will  shake 
with  cold ! 

ARDIANE. 

No,  for  they  are  too  beautiful !    And  you, 

[Turning  to  YGRAINE. 

Ygraine,  where  are  you  ?     For. there  shone 

but  now, 

Deep  in  this  mirror, shoulders,  and  a  throat, 
That  flooded  it  with  happy,  tender  light : 
Come,  I  must  liberate  you  all !    My  sisters, 
In  truth  I  do  not  wonder  any  more 
He  never  loved  you  as  he  should  have 

loved, 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

Or  that  he  coveted  a  hundred,  yet 
Possessed  no  woman. 

[Removing  the  mantle  that  YGRAINE 
has  thrown  over  her  shoulders. 

O  two  fountain-heads 
Of  beauty  into  darkness  cast  away  ! 
This  above  all :  fear  nothing !  And  to-night 
Let  us  be  beautiful ! 

[The  NURSE,  haggard  and  dishevelled, 
enters  by  a  side  door. 

THE  NURSE. 

O,  he  is  here  ! 
He  is  returning ! 

THE  OTHERS. 
Who?     Who?     He?     To-night? 

ARDIANE. 
Who  told  you  ? 

SELYSETTE. 

Were  you  able  to  go  out  ? 
158 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

ARDIANE. 
Have  you  seen  any  one? 

THE  NURSE. 

Yes,  yes,  a  guard  ! 
He  has  seen  you,  he  admires  you ! 

ARDIANE. 

I  have  seen 

No  creature  since  the  hour  he  went  away. 
All  gates,  all  doors  of  their  own  motion 

close, 
Though  none  knows  how;  the  palace  seems 

deserted. 

THE  NURSE. 

They  hide,  I  say  they  hide, 

And  we  are  all  espied 

Forever  here. 

It  was  the  youngest  spoke  to  me ; 

He  is  returning  ;  he  must  be, 

He  said,  quite  near. 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

The  peasants  are  in  arms.     The  peasants 

know ! 

They  are  rising  !    All  the  village  is  below, 
Lurking  among  the  hedges  !     Hark  !     A 
cry ! 

{She  mounts  by  one  of  the  curving  lat- 
eral stairways  to  the  windows  of 
the  gallery. 

There   are  torches   in   the  copses   going 
by! 

[The  women,  terrified,  give  a  cry  of 
horror,  and  run  to  and  fro  through 
the  hall,  seeking  a  •point  of  exit. 
The  NURSE  endeavours  to  stop 
them. 

THE  NURSE. 

Seek  not  to  fly :  you  know  the  doors  are 

shut. 
Where  would  you  go  ?     Stay  here,  stay 

here,  and  wait ! 
1 60 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleuc 

SELYSETTE  (also  mounting  to  the  windows). 

O,  the  great  chariot!     It  is  stopping  ! 

\_All  mount  the  stairs  to  the  windows, 
crowding  together  on  the  interior 
balcony r,  and  leaning  out  into  the 
night. 

MELISANDE. 

See! 
Now  he  steps  out !     I  see  him  !     And  he 

makes 
Signs,  signs  of  anger  ! 

SELYSETTE. 

All  around  him  stand 
His  negroes ! 

MELISANDE. 

And  they  all  have  naked  swords 
That  glitter  in  the  moon  ! 
ii  161 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

SELYSETTE   (taking    refuge    in    ARDIANE'S 
arms). 

O  Ardiane ! 
O  Ardiane,  I  am  frightened  ! 

THE  NURSE. 

Do  you  see? 
The  peasants  are  appearing  !     There  they 

come! 
See,  there  again  !    And  O,  they  have  their 

scythes, 
Their  pitch-forks  ! 

SELYSETTE. 

They  are  going  to  fight! 
[Murmurs,  cries,  uproar,  tumult,  blas- 
phemy, and  the  clashing  of  arms 
in  the  distance  without. 

MELISANDE. 

They  fight ! 
162 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

YGRAINE. 
One  of  the  negroes  there  has  fallen  ! 

THE  NURSE. 

O, 
The  peasants,  they  are  terrible !      Their 

scythes  ! 

They  are  so  huge !     And  all  the  village 
there ! 

MELISANDE. 

O  look,  the  negroes  are  deserting  him ! 
They  fly,  they  fly !     They  are  hiding  in 
the  woods ! 

YGRAINE. 

And  he  is  flying  also  !     Now  he  runs  ! 
Now  he  is  making  for  the  castle  court ! 

THE  NURSE. 

The  peasants  after  him  ! 
163 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Blcue 

SELYSETTE. 

O,  they  will  kill  him  ! 

THE  NURSE. 

They  are  going  out  to  help   him !     See 

the  guards  ! 
They  have  opened  wide  the  castle  gates ! 

They  run ! 
They  run  to  help  him  ! 

SELYSETTE. 

One,  two,  three,  four,  five  .  .  . 
Now  six  .  .  .  now  seven.  .  .  .  There  are 
only  seven  ! 

THE  NURSE. 

O  look,  the  peasants  are  surrounding  them ! 
They  are  there  in  hundreds  ! 

MELISANDE. 

O,  what  are  they  doing  ? 
164 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

THE  NURSE. 

I  see  them  dancing  round  about  a  man: 
The  rest  have  fallen  ! 

SELYSETTE. 

And  the  man  is  he  ! 

I  caught  a  sight  of  his  blue  mantle  then : 
He  is  lying  on  the  grass  ! 

THE  NURSE. 

Now  they  are  still ! 
Now  they  are  raising  him  ! 

MELISANDE. 

O,  is  he  hurt  ? 

YGRAINE. 
He  staggers  ! 

SELYSETTE. 

He  is  bleeding  !     I  saw  blood  ! 
Ardiane  ! 

165 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleuc 

ARDIANE. 

Come  away  then,  look  no  more  ! 
Hide  your  head  here  in  my  arms ! 

THE  NURSE. 

They  are  bringing  ropes  ! 
They  are  disputing  !     Now  they  tie  his 
limbs  ! 

MELISANDE. 

Where  are  they  going?     For  they  carry 

him.  .  .  . 
They  are  dancing,  they  are  singing ! 

THE  NURSE. 

Hither,  see  ! 
They  are  coming  hither:  see  them  on  the 

bridge  ! 

The  gates  are  open.    They  are  halting.    O, 
They  mean  to  cast  him  in  the  moat ! 
166 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

ARDIANE  AND  THE  OTHERS  (terrified,  cry- 
ing aloud)  and  rocking  to  and  fro  in 
desperation  at  the  windows). 

No,  no! 
Help,  help  him  !     Do  not  kill  him  !    Help 

him,  help  ! 
No,  no,  not  that !     Not  that !     Not  that! 

Not  that ! 

THE  NURSE. 

They  do  not  hear.  .  .  .  The  others  thrust 
them  on.  .  .  . 

ARDIANE. 
He  is  saved ! 

THE  NURSE. 

And  now  they  are  before  the  gate, 
And  now  they  seek  to  break  into  the  yard  ! 
[Cries  from   the   CROWD,   who  have 
caught  sight  of  the  women  at  the 
windows.     'They  then  sing. 
167 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

THE  CROWD. 
Open  !    Open  !    Open  !    Open  the  door ! 

Open  wide  the  door  ! 

Open  in  God's  name! 
The  candle  gutters  o'er, 

The  wick  has  no  more  flame  ! 

THE  WOMEN. 

We  cannot !  ...  It  is  barred  !  .  .  .  They 

break  it  in ! 
Hear  it  give  way !     They  all  are  coming 

in! 
And  now  they  struggle  up  the  flight  of 

steps 
Before    the   door    below.  .   .   .   Beware ! 

Beware ! 
They  are  all  drunken  ! 

ARDIANE. 

I  am  going  now 

To  unbar  the  door  below.  .  .  . 
168 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

THE  OTHERS. 

O  Ardiane  !  \T"errified  and  imploring. 
No !  They  are  drunken !  Bolt  it,  Ardiane ! 
They  are  at  the  door  ! 

ARDIANE. 

Fear  nothing :  stay  you  there. 
Do  not  come  down,  for  I  will  go  alone. 

five  women  descend  the  stairs 
which  lead  down  from  the  win- 
dows',  and  recoil  towards  the  nearer 
end  of  the  hall,  and  there  remain, 
grouped  rigidly  together  in  an 
attitude  of  terrified  attention. 
ARDIAVIE,  followed  &y  the  NURSE, 
goes  to  the  great  central  door, 
under  the  colonnade,  and  throws 
back  both  leaves  of  it.  'There  is  a 
sound  of  trampling  feet,  of  shout- 
ing, singing,  and  laughter.  "The 
foremost  members  of  the  crowd 
169 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

appear ,  amid  the  red  glare  of  the 
torches,  as  it  were  framed  in  the 
doorway ,  which  they  entirely  fill, 
but  without  crossing  the  threshold. 
'They  are  folk  of  brutal  appear- 
ance,  savage  or  hilarious  according 
to  disposition ;  their  clothes  are  torn 
and  disordered  after  their  strug- 
gle. 'They  are  carrying  BARBE 
BLEUE,  who  is  tightly  pinioned, 
and  pause  for  a  moment,  discon- 
certed at  the  appearance  of 
ARDIANE,  who  is  standing  before 
the  grave,  unperturbed,  and  im- 
perial. At  the  same  time,  further 
back  among  those  peasants  who 
are  crowded  together  on  the  flight 
of  steps,  and  cannot  see  what  is 
passing,  there  are  cries,  sudden 
thrusts  and  pushes,  shouts,  and 
laughter  that  lasts  a  moment  and 
is  then  extinguished  by  the  per- 
170 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

flexed  and  respectful  whisperings 
of  those  about  the  door.  At  the 
moment  of  the  invasion  of  the  door- 
way by  the  crowd \  the  five  women 
silently  and  instinctively  fall  on 
their  knees  at  the  end  of  the  hall 
remoter  from  the  door. 

AN  OLD  PEASANT  (removing  his  bonnet  and 
rolling  it  in  his  hands). 

Well,  lady,  can  a  man  come  in  ? 

ONE  OF  THOSE  THAT  CARRY  BARBE  BLEUE. 

You  see, 
He  '11  do  you  no  more  ill ! 

A  THIRD   PEASANT. 

He 's  heavy.  .  .  .  Ouf ! 

THE  FIRST  PEASANT. 

Where  would  you  have  us  put  him  ? 
171 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

ANOTHER  PEASANT. 

Over  there 
Down  in  the  corner. 

[They  lay  BARBE  BLEUE  down. 

There  now,  there  he  lies 
Now  he  will  never  stir  again  !     No  more  ! 
Much  evil  has  he  done  us ! 

ANOTHER  PEASANT. 

Have  you  got 
Somewhat  to  kill  him  with  ? 

ARDIANE. 

Yes,  never  fear.  .  .  . 

THE  PEASANT. 
Will  you  have  some  one  help  you? 

ARDIANE. 

No,  no  need.  .  .  . 
We  shall  do  well. 

173 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

A  PEASANT. 

But  look  you  have  a  care  : 
Beware  lest  he  escape  you  ! 

\_Baring  his  chest. 
See  you  now, 
What  he  has  done  to  me  ! 

ANOTHER  PEASANT  (baring  his  arm). 

Now  see  my  arm  ! 
It  came  in  here,  and  then  out  there  it  went. 

ARDIANE. 

You  are  all  brave  folk,  but  do  you  leave 

us  now. 
We  shall  avenge  ourselves,  and  well ;  but 

now 

Leave  us,  I  pray,  for  night  is  growing  late, 
And  see  to  all  your  wounds. 

THE  OLD  PEASANT. 

Now  show  respect, 
Because  we  are  not  savages,  to  ladies. 


Ardianc  and  Barbe  Blcuc 

We  shall  not  make  a  sound.  ...   It  is 

not,  lady, 

Words,  merely  —  but  you  are  too  beautiful. 
Good-bye,  good-bye. 

ARDIANE  (closing  the  door). 

Good-bye  ;  you  have  my  thanks. 
[She  turns  and  sees  the  five  women  on 
their  knees  at  the  other  end  of  the 
hall. 
You  were  on  your  knees  ! 

[Approaching  BARBE  BLEUE. 

And  you  are  wounded  ?     Yes  ! 

The  blood  is  flowing  here  —  'tis  in  the 

neck  — 
'T  is  nothing;  no,  the  wound  is  shallow. 

This, 
Here  on  the  arm  —  but  hurts  upon  the 

arm 

Are     seldom     very     grave  —  but   as   for 
this  — 

J74 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

The  bleeding  will  not  stop :  the  hand  is 

pierced. 
First  we  must  dress  it. 

[While  ARDIANE  is  speaking  the  Jive 
women  draw  nigh,  one  by  one,  and 
without  speaking  kneel  or  lean 
about  BARBE  BLEUE. 

SELYSETTE. 

His  eyes  are  open  now. 

MELISANDE. 
How  pale  he  is  !    He  must  have  suffered  ! 

SELYSETTE. 

O! 

Those  peasants  are  so  terrible  ! 

ARDIANE. 

Some  water ! 

THE  NURSE. 

Yes,  I  will  go  and  seek  some.  .  .  . 
175 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

ARDIANE. 

Have  you  linen  ? 

MELISANDE. 
Here  is  my  kerchief. 

SELYSETTE. 

He  is  stifling  !     O, 
Would  you  not  have  me  hold  his  head  up? 

MELISANDE. 

/ 

Stay, 
See,  I  will  help  you. 

SELYSETTE. 

No,  for  Alladine 
Is  helping  me. 

[ALLADINE  indeed  is   helping   her  to 
raise  BARBE   BLEUE'S  heady  and 
she  furtively  kisses  his  forehead, 
sobbing  the  while. 
176 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleuc 

MELISANDE. 

O  softly,  Alladine ! 
What  are  you  doing  ? 

SELYSETTE. 
How  his  forehead  burns  ! 

MELISANDE. 

His  beard  is  shaven,  and  he  is  not  now 
So  terrible.  .  .  . 

SELYSETTE. 

Have  you  not  some  water?     See, 
His  face  is  covered  all  with  dust  and  Wood. 

YGRAINE. 
He  breathes  with  effort.  .  .  . 

ARDIANE. 

Yes,  it  is  these  cords, 
They  stifle  him.     The  bonds  are  drawn 
so  tight 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Blcue 

A  rock  would  crumble  in  them.  .  .  .  Have 

you  not, 
Some  one,  a  knife  ? 

YGRAINE. 

Two  knives  were  on  the  table.  .  .  . 
Here  is  the  larger. 

{She  gives  it  to  ARDIANE. 

THE  NURSE  (who  has  returned  with  the 
water  —  terrified}. 

You  are  going  to  ... 

ARDIANE. 

Yes. 

THE  NURSE. 

But  he  is  not  —  you  see  ...  he  looks 
at  us  ! 

ARDIANE. 

Raise  well    the    cord,   so    I    may  do  no 
hurt.  .  .  . 

178 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

[One  by  one  she  cuts  the  bonds  which 
imprison  BARBE  BLEUE.  When 
she  comes  to  those  that  pinion  his 
arms  behind  his  back  the  NURSE 
seizes  her  hands  to  check  her. 

\ 
THE  NURSE. 

Wait  till  he  speaks  ...  we  do  not  know 
at  all.  .  .  . 

ARDIANE. 

Have  you  another  knife  ?     This  blade  is 

broken.  .  .  . 
The  cords  are  very  hard. 

MELISANDE  (giving  her  the  knife). 
Here  is  the  other 

ARDIANE. 
Thank  you ! 

[She  cuts  the  last  turns  of  the  cord* 
Silence  :  the  beating  of  their  hearts 
is  heard.     BARBE  BLEUE,  feeling 
179 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

himself  free,  rises  slowly  to  a  sit- 
ting posture,  his  arms  still  be- 
numbed, and  moves  his  hands  to 
make  them  supple.  He  then  re- 
gards each  of  the  women  about 
him  fixedly,  and  in  silence.  'Then, 
leaning  against  the  wall,  he  stands 
upright  and  remains  motionless^ 
looking  at  his  injured  hand. 

ARDIANE  (drawing  near  to  him). 

Good-bye. 

[She  kisses  him  upon  the  brow.    BARBE 
BLEUE  makes  an  instinctive  move- 
ment to  detain  her.      She  gently 
frees  herself,  and  proceeds  toward 
the  door,  followed  by  the  NURSE. 

SELYSETTE  (running  after  her  and  stopping 
her). 

Ardiane,  Ardiane ! 
Where  are  you  going  ? 
1 80 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

ARDIANE. 

Far  away  from  here, 

Down  yonder,  where  I  am  awaited  still. . . 
Do  you  come  with  me,  Selysette  ? 

SELYSETTE. 

I  too? 
But  when  will  you  return? 

ARDIANE. 

I  shall  not. 

MELISANDE. 

O! 
Ardiane ! 

ARDIANE. 

Are  you  coming,  Melisande  ? 
[MELISANDE   looks   to  and  fro  from 
ARDIANE  to   BARBE   BLEUE  and 
does  not  reply. 

O  see  the  open  door,  the  far  blue  hills  ! 
Ygraine,  are  you  not  coming  ? 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

[YGRAINE  does  not  turn  her  head. 

Now  the  moon, 

The  stars,  illumine  every  road.    And  you, 
Bellangere,  do  you  come? 

BELLANGERE  (shortly). 

No.  ... 

ARDIANE. 

Alladine, 
Do  I  go  forth  alone  ? 

[At  these  words  ALLADINE  runs  to 
ARDIANE,  throws  herself  into 
her  arms,  sobbing  convulsively, 
and  holds  her  in  a  long  and  fever- 
ish embrace. 

ARDIANE  (embracing  her  in  turn,  and  softly 
disengaging  herself,  in  tears). 

You  too  remain, 

Alladine  !  O  be  happy  !  And  farewell.  .  .  . 
\_She  goes  out  hastily,  followed  by  the 
NURSE.     'The  five  women  look  at 
182 


Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 

one  another  and  at  BARBE  BLEUE, 
who  slowly  raises  his  head.     BEL* 

LANGERE      and     YcRAINE      shrug 

their   shoulders^  and  go  to   close 
the  door.     Silence. 


THE  CURTAIN  FALLS. 


THE  END  OF  ARDIANE  AND  BARBE  BLEUE. 


COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


ok  Slii>-35m-9,'62(D2218s4)4280 


681     5 


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UCLA-College  Library 

PQ  2624  A5S6E 


L  005  723  028  6 


